


World Was On Fire

by amberbamba



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: D/s – power play, Dom!Harry, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, alcohol and substance abuse, contents include my blood and tears., flangst, mean!harry, pet names galore, ridiculously happy ending, sub!liam, too many kinks to name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberbamba/pseuds/amberbamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The image is one thing and the human being is another. It's very hard to live up to an image, put it that way.”<br/>― Elvis Presley</p><p>Harry spirals out of control.  Liam does his best to hold everything together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Was On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Some thanks: To [fallfreely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fallfreely/pseuds/fallfreely), who I had to Clockwork Orange to read this while she was all, ‘noooo mean Harry’, who was there from start to finish, who edited and was my whine wall, who let me rest my head on her chest and stroked my hair the many times this fic made me cry. I can’t thank you enough. 
> 
> And to [bitchscribbles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchscribbles/pseuds/bitchscribbles), who without our long, rambly talks, I could have never made it through the last section with nearly as much grace.
> 
> I know you guys don’t care how the sausage is made, but I swear three months ago all this was, was me saying to Becca, “What if Harry was a total dick, and used Liam for sex?” Now, after me crying blood and bleeding tears, it’s an in depth character study of what would make Harry act like a total douche, what makes Liam let him, and what fixes them both.
> 
> So in the immortal words of Michael Scott, “Let me show you a finished sausage.”

“Harry, I don’t know if we should be doing this in here, someone’s going to hear us,” Liam says nervously.

Harry laughs, slapping Liam sharp on his hip, pushing his head down with his other hand. “Shut up. You love the thought of people hearing me fuck your arse.” 

Liam stops complaining, just takes it like the good boy he is, letting Harry thrust in roughly from behind him. 

Most of the time Liam comes and loud and spectacularly messy when they fuck. He doesn’t come when it’s like this though; quick and excessively public is Harry’s kink. The high risk fires him up something wicked. But Liam doesn’t get off on being caught – being overheard – like Harry does. Harry keeps fucking him anyway, because it’s not his problem.

He pulled Liam into the storage cupboard of the radio station they were performing at five minutes ago, and told him to drop his trousers cause he needed a distraction before the fucking accusations masquerading as interview questions started. 

Liam did. Liam _always_ does. He never denies Harry anything, because Liam likes pleasing Harry. That’s why he’s currently bent over with his trousers around his ankles, letting Harry fuck into him in short, twitchy bursts, despite the sounds of the workers of 95.6 FM milling about three metres away.

There’s a timid knock on the door from one of the production staff. “Um, sorry to disturb you. But we need to know if you’re ready. You’re on air in four minutes.” She sounds young, and there’s a twinge of such exquisite embarrassment in her voice when she speaks. 

“Yeah, we’re just coming,” Harry laughs. This random girl knowing he has his dick deep in Liam, fucking him next to the 2B pencils, sends Harry over the edge, and he comes in hard thrusts that slap loudly against Liam arse. She probably hears that too, and picturing the look on her face makes him come harder.

The girl hurries away and Harry pulls out with a gasp, letting his cum spill out of Liam, dripping down his thighs in thick streams. He loves this part.

He runs his fingers through the mess on Liam’s legs, and trails it back up to his hole, pushing it in with the pad of his thumb. “Mmm, I love watching my spunk drip out of you,” he says, all raspy, fucked-out voice – the one that makes Liam flush and stutter.

Harry zips and buttons his jeans, and Liam stands, tugging up his trousers gingerly. Harry doesn’t like it when he cleans up – likes the idea of Liam walking around with Harry all over and all in him. 

He turns around and Harry stuffs his cum covered fingers into his mouth, making Liam clean them up. He sucks them down dutifully, closing his eyes when Harry lets his fingers reach so far back he chokes. Harry smiles.

“Brilliant. Let’s get out there. And try not to let on you just got royally fucked.” 

Liam follows him out.

Harry finally feels ready for this fucking interview.

 

When Harry was 22, he was simultaneously voted the Worst Singer by the NME, and the Most Annoying Celebrity by the Daily Mirror.

He simultaneously stopped trying and stopped giving a fuck after that.

 

Harry wasn’t the one who initiated this thing between them – Liam was. On a cold night in June, Harry lying simmering with rage and discontent on a bed in a nondescript hotel room in Canada.

He was just over it. Over the paps that snapped pictures of him taking out the rubbish. Over the girls screaming so loud when he went to get his morning Starbucks, that his ears permanently rang. Over the shitty gossip rags that called him a dirty serial shagger that should be neutered and made to jog off back where he came from.

Harry was sprawled on the perfectly tucked sheets, shirtless, half-empty bottle of Jack in his hands, thinking about what would happen if he called the grating twink he’d shagged the night before. The one he fucked in the car outside, cause he’d known if he invited him up to the room he would never leave.

After a while he decided it wasn’t fucking worth it. He’d struck him as someone who’d call the papers if he ignored him the next day, which wouldn’t be the first time. Harry could learn a lesson if it was hammered into him enough, and that one had been.

 _Many_ times.

There was a quiet squeak and Liam was poking his head round the door, smiling awkwardly.

“Hi, Haz,” he mumbled, crawling up to the head of the bed to sit next to him.

Harry rolled his eyes, disgusted. “Doesn’t anyone fucking knock anymore?” It was bad enough that he had no privacy out there, let alone having to deal with four other tossers who were happy to live on top of each other.

Liam looked like he was about to reach out and touch him, but stopped himself at the last second. He grabbed his own knee instead. 

A year ago, Harry would have welcomed it. But now he hated it when the boys were all over him, all on him, smothering him until he couldn’t breathe. And that’s a lesson Liam’s had to learn.

“I know you’re in a bad mood, I just wanted to help. Is there anything I can do?” Liam asked, all earnest concern.

Liam’s voice got on his nerves. There was something about his pronunciation that felt like a cheese grater running down his central nervous system.

“Is there anything you can do? Let me think. Um, can you fuck off back where you came from and not bother me every fucking second of my day?” Harry replied, mocking Liam’s tone.

Liam looked like he’d been slapped, and for some reason that made Harry angrier.

“Can you make it so I can go to the chemist and buy anal lube without being followed by forty fucking paps and eighty teenage morons who want me to sign their non-existent tits? Can you stop girls calling after I fuck them and pretending they’re knocked up?” Harry huffed out a revolted snort and prepared for Liam to slink out the way he’d came.

“Yes,” Liam answered confidently, jaw set. 

Harry was surprised that he sounded like he had a set of balls. “What?” He tipped back the Jack for another swig. 

“I can do that last one for you,” Liam insisted, shoulders set, looking determined.

Before Harry could respond, Liam had shuffled down the bed until he was kneeling between Harry’s open thighs; thumbing loose the button on his jeans and sliding down the zip, looking up to meet Harry’s eyes. Harry could only stare back at him, challenging, perversely curious to see what he’d do.

“Go on then,” he rumbled.

Liam leaned over Harry’s lap and fished his cock out of his pants. It was sticky with the day’s sweat and precum, and Harry was glad Liam was the one touching it and not him.

Liam jacked him in his hand for a while, Harry watching him intently and taking occasional swallows of whiskey. He remained soft for a long time. He’d never been particularly fond of hand-jobs. No one could ever seem to get the pressure right, the angle just there, never twisted at the top the way he liked.

It was interesting though. 

Watching this boy that he’d known so well and so long try to get him hard as if he _needed_ it. As if it would make Liam’s evening if Harry could just get a boner for him. Vaguely, Harry thought, huh, I never knew this about Liam.

He’d known Liam was bi of course. They’d all known that, even before he came out to them the year before. Liam was as unsubtle checking out pretty boys as he was pretty girls; and they’d all giggled and nudged each other whenever they’d caught him over the years.

Liam never talked about his sex life, but Harry assumed it was because he was just _ridiculously_ uninteresting in that area. They’d shared a lot of rooms together during the bands run, and it was inevitable that once or twice he’d walked in on Liam shagging. Been half asleep on the other side of the room when he was going at it. 

Liam was a missionary position, in-out, shake it all about, let’s spoon and talk about our feelings, kind of guy – totally uninspiring. Harry didn’t even bother to listen in after a while.

This he hadn’t known, though. That Liam could be desperate for it. Could look at a cock like it was delicious. Could be so into jacking another guy off that he had to rub his dick against the bed while he did it.

Harry’s cock twitched. He could do something with this.

Liam squeezed up and down his shaft, twisting and pulling, rubbing his palm over the head – and it felt okay. Harry’s dick was half hard, a drop of precum threatening to pearl at the tip. 

But he wanted more. 

“Are you going to suck it?” he asked, tone bored. “Otherwise this is fucking pointless, I could do this myself, only better.”

Liam looked at him apologetically, like the fact that he couldn’t get Harry off with his hand made him a failure. Harry didn’t correct him. He figured it was good for him to feel like he had to work for it.

Liam moved his face closer to Harry’s dick and wrinkled his nose at the remains of a day inside tight, hot jeans that his hand hadn’t managed to remove. Harry raised an eyebrow and grabbed Liam’s hair, shoving him down until he took Harry into his mouth. It was like medicine – down in one and you didn’t even taste it.

Liam swallowed him in, pushing himself as far as he could get without deep throating, and sucked. He moved his tongue in lazy circles around Harry’s cock, bringing him to full hardness slowly. Harry didn’t want slow. He began to fuck up into his mouth, rough and quick. 

Liam grabbed Harry by the thighs, relaxing his throat and letting Harry’s cock slip inside. He held him there for longer than anyone in Harry’s experience – until his nose started to run and his eyes were watering, and Harry couldn’t believe how fucking tight and hot and _mind-blowing_ it felt. Liam pulled off messily, gasping for air, but Harry grabbed the back of his head and tugged him down again, forcing him to take him back into his throat. Liam tried to relax –tried to let it happen – but it was too soon, he wasn’t ready, and he choked, painful and uncomfortable. 

Harry moaned loudly, dick twitching from how fucking amazing it felt to have Liam’s throat spasming for air around him. He did it again. He did it until there was saliva running streams down into his pubes and onto his thighs – until it covered Liam’s chin and nose. Until Liam’s eyes were watering so badly, his tears dripped onto Harry’s stomach.

After that, Harry held Liam’s head with his free hand and fucked his throat, unthinkingly. Liam just held on and took it, letting Harry’s balls and lower torso slap wetly against his face.

It didn’t take Harry long then. He kept hold of Liam’s head and forced him onto his cock, coming in pulsing jets directly down his throat. “Swallow, swallow, swallow,” he chanted, eyes squeezed shut, one hand in Liam’s hair, the other still holding the Jack. Liam did.

After, Harry felt wrecked, and satisfied, and calmer than he had in a long time.

“Do you feel better?” Liam asked, wiping the back of his mouth with his arm. 

Harry cracked an eye open and hummed, shooting a grin at the bulge in Liam’s trousers. Liam blushed like a fucking virgin. “I do,” Harry replied, his soft cock resting sticky on his thigh. “I s’pose since you’re so fucking desperate for it, we can do that again sometime.”

Harry knew the arrangement could work. Liam was on hand and clearly gagging for it.

“Yeah, Haz. If it helps.” Liam ducked his head and scurried out the door.

After that, Harry was still pissed off all the time, but he started letting Liam touch him in public.

It felt like the most normal thing in his life.

 

Yes, Hurricane Sandy has battered the Eastern Coast of America. Hurricane Sandy – the only thing that’s fucked more Americans is Harry from One Direction.  
¬  
– Jimmy Carr, 8 Out of 10 Cats, October 2012

 

Harry likes a good hard shag after a show. He needs it after the rush of adrenaline to bring him down. He needs a full stop to the intensity of being worshipped and praised for two hours.

Liam comes to his room straight after their shows now. Harry likes to fuck him hard and sweaty on all fours; sometimes on the bed, sometimes on the rough carpet so Liam’s knees and elbows burn. Harry always tells him to wear t-shirts and shorts the next day so he can look at them – so everyone else can see.

Harry admittedly has a thing about Liam flushing with embarrassment. He enjoys it when Louis looks at him like he doesn’t know who he is. When his morally perfect and oh-so-rational Zayn takes him into a corner to try and talk some sense into him and Liam brushes him off, shrugs him away, starts actively avoiding him. Anyway, those two could do with being a little less fucking close, in Harry’s opinion.

Harry doesn’t need Liam tonight though. He finds these two completely wasted and slutty rich girls that have somehow gotten their daddies to buy their way backstage tonight, and they’re seriously up for it. Had been from the moment he sat down with them on the couch backstage and started flirting with both of them, running his index finger up their thighs to see which one was most likely to go down on him. 

It’s made expressly clear to him after the first thirty minutes that they both are. At the same time. Harry doesn’t look gift whores in the mouth.

They’re both on his bed, making out with each other and getting rapidly naked, when Harry hears a knock at the door. He knows it’s Liam. He hadn’t been able to find him to cancel earlier.

Harry gets up and flings the door open, shirtless and flushed with pride, assuming Liam will appreciate this. But Liam looks through to the bed behind him and his whole face drops. 

It’s not the reaction Harry was expecting. Liam doesn’t seem to be appreciating their nakedness, the fact that they’re kissing, _or_ that Harry managed it so quickly.

“Hey, listen mate, I don’t need you tonight, yeah? I’ve got my hands full,” he laughs like it’s a private joke between the two of them. 

Liam doesn’t meet his eyes, just smiles weakly down at his scuffed converse and nods imperceptibly. “Sure, Haz. I’ll see you in the morning.” He stumbles backwards, looking like he’s trying to escape as swiftly as possible – like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

Harry reaches out a hand to try and steady him but Liam darts away, moves down the hallway in as close to a run as he can get. Harry feels a twist of something that used to be familiar.

He’d like to think Liam was disappointed because he was so desperate for Harry’s cock tonight. He’d like to think Liam was so upset because looking at tits bummed him out. He’d like to think a lot of things.

He _knows_ Liam doesn’t like that Harry’s with other people.

Which is fine, he supposes he can hold off for a while. Just until the novelty of Liam sucking him like a vacuum cleaner and making his arse available every minute of the day wears off. Just until Harry doesn’t find it an unbearable turn on that Liam is such a slut for him. Just until Harry stops feeling a pointless rush of guilt at Liam’s puppy face.

Which he will. He just needs more time.

The girls are a nice going away present though.

It’s only fair.

 

The first time Harry fucked Liam was after a show, adrenaline high and both of them desperate for it.

It had been three weeks since the first time Liam sucked Harry off, and he’d done it most nights since. Harry just texted him and there he was – a no-hassles blowjob dispenser that he didn’t have to call in the morning. Liam was the only one in the band that he found vaguely tolerable anymore. Especially when he had his mouth full and his head down.

Considering how well things were going then, he didn’t know why Liam thought would be a good idea to come up behind Harry during his solo of the final song and pants him. Like he used to do. Like Harry used to think was funny, back when this all seemed fun and carefree, and like every fucker and their dog wasn’t judging him and finding him a twat.

He’d tugged up his trousers angrily and spun around, pushing Liam violently into Zayn and storming off to the other side of the stage. There was a ripple of confusion and discomfort in the audience, but it was nothing compared to the confusion and discomfort on Liam’s face.

Harry felt a dark twist of pride at making Liam look at him angrily for the first time. At making him look fed up. He’s an arsehole – it was time Liam caught on to what the other three had figured out years ago.

Zayn caught Liam and held him gently, rubbing his arm and glaring at Harry while Louis and Niall played off the whole thing as roughhousing for the audience. That pissed Harry off even more. He didn’t know what Zayn was playing at, getting involved in everyone else’s fucking business, but this was between him and Liam, and they could sort out their own shit.

He made that clear backstage, when he showered in record time and strode up to Liam huddling in the corner with Zayn, looking far too cosy for mates. He assumed they were planning where they could go later so Liam could suck Zayn off. It wouldn’t surprise him, since Liam was so desperate for cock, he probably needed it more than Harry could get it up.

Harry didn’t like that thought one bit. Didn’t like how close they were. Didn’t like the fact that Liam had probably been sucking Zayn’s dick for years and that’s why they were so close. 

He grabbed Liam’s arm and tugged him away from Zayn, and Zayn looked like he was getting ready to knock him out, regardless of the fact they were in a packed room full of people they didn’t know.

Harry just glared back at him. If Zayn wanted to have it out over who got Liam that night, he was ready. Much worse things had been written about him that week than a story about him fighting for a shag. 

“C’mon Liam, I need to talk to you,” he told him, eyes not leaving Zayn’s.

Liam stood silent between them.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Zayn said, voice monotone.

Harry shook Liam’s arm gently, trying to coerce him to follow. “It’s up to him, isn’t it?” 

“It’s okay, Zayn, I’ll be fine.” Liam squeezed his shoulder, and Harry didn’t feel that level of reassurance was necessary at _all_.

He tilted his head at Zayn insolently and dragged Liam away, ignoring that fact that they were having some kind of conversation with their eyes.

Harry could have taken Liam to his room since he wasn’t staying with anyone – hadn’t been since the tour started. It was a general unspoken consensus that no one wanted to share with him anymore. But he took Liam to his own room instead, because in the back of his mind he was aware that Zayn could walk in on them later. Could come back early and see how much his sweet, virtuous Liam loved sucking on Harry’s cock until he choked, and then kept on going. 

Harry slammed the door closed, pulling Liam behind him as he headed for the bed. He slid onto it with a flourish, flipping onto his back while Liam stood confused and expectant at the side.

“Alright?” Harry rested on his elbows and pulled one leg up, waggling his hips, all unabashed sexual charisma. “Didn’t bring you here for your sparkling conversation, mate.” He popped the button on his jeans and removed his shirt, stretching out and showing off.

Liam stalled for a moment, wringing his hands like a distressed maiden. “Sorry, no, I just thought – I wanted… Yeah, it was stu—“ Liam bit his lip hard.

Harry thought he might actually say no this time. But after a minute of jerky, aborted turns and a close inspection of his laces, he snapped into gear. With a noise that could easily be misconstrued as a whine, Liam twisted out of his jacket and climbed over Harry, pushing him back and crawling over him.

“Okay.” He wasted no time kissing down Harry’s stomach, taking time to curl his tongue over the tattoos decorating his collarbones, abs and stomach. It felt nice. It felt like something Harry used to enjoy, before he became jaded by endless parades of fumbling groupies. “You want my mouth, yeah?” Liam’s voice was muffled in Harry’s bellybutton.

“No, I want your arse,” Harry spat out, and Liam’s eyes shot wide with shock. He hadn’t been expecting that to come out of his mouth, but he knew the moment he said it that it was what he wanted. He wanted to punish Liam for tonight. To punish him for Zayn. To punish him for being so fucking perfect and unaffected by it all.

Liam bit his lip and nodded, sitting up to remove his clothes and Harry followed suit, sliding his jeans off through Liam’s legs. 

Liam had a nice body, objectively speaking. He kept in better shape than Harry and he treated his body kinder so there was a glow to him – something clean-cut and wholesome that made Harry nostalgic. 

A long leg stretched over Harry, straddling his hips, and Liam settled down cautiously. Harry flicked his eyes up to watch him, Liam looking away quickly, like two positive magnets glancing off each other at the last second. 

There was an overnight bag thrown at the side of the bed and Liam reached down to dig through it, coming back with a bottle of lube and a condom. He held them limply in his hands, mouth opening and closing like he wasn’t sure he’d heard Harry correctly before. Like he’d just done something terribly presumptuous.

“Come on then,” Harry prompted him, bumping his hips up to shock Liam into moving.

“Right, sorry Harry.” Liam moved awkwardly around for a bit, trying to find a position to open himself in – one that preserved his modesty, apparently. After he almost kneed him in the bollocks one too many times, Harry pulled him by the arms so he collapsed over him.

“Like this, Liam. Get your fingers wet and reach back.”

Liam gasped, tried to turn his head so he wasn’t so close to his face, finally settling on pressing his forehead into Harry’s dampening chest. He fumbled around for the lube bottle wedged painfully between their stomachs and flicked the top off, wetting his fingers with minuscule drops. 

Harry snatched the bottle away, squeezing until Liam’s fingers were soaked. “Need to get you dripping if I’m ever going to fit in to bum you properly.” 

“I don’t – okay,” Liam nodded stiffly, hand moving back to prepare himself slowly. Harry gritted his teeth. He was hard as a rock, ready to be inside him, pounding Liam until his brain went numb and Liam was back in his box. 

After more gaspy minutes than Harry thought was strictly necessary, Liam sat up and found the plastic condom packet sticking to his thigh. He blushed bright red and tried to open it with shaky, wet fingers, sighing in embarrassment every time he lost his grip – slid off like he was trying to turn a doorknob covered in butter. Harry ripped it out of his hands impatiently, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling the latex down his cock expertly. 

Liam had a wobble, lost for a second, so Harry nudged him again. “Get up here and take a fucking seat.” 

He sniggered at his own joke, almost missing Liam’s mumbled, “How polite.”

Liam shuffled up and positioned himself over him, sinking down gingerly, tentatively. Harry let him set the pace because he was _tight_. So tight he strangled Harry’s cock until it pinched, and Harry didn’t understand why Liam had been fucking guys with such small pricks. 

Once Liam managed to force him inside, exhaling and shifting about, he loosened up admirably and began attempting amateurish little bounces. Harry let him go for a while, happy enough to let Liam ride him gently, rocking back and forth and pinching Harry’s nipples. It was when Harry opened his eyes and saw Liam with his head tipped back, blissed-out and loose, that he lost it. 

A swirl of irrational fury touched down like a tornado. This was supposed to be a punishment for fucking Harry over, not a present.

He gripped Liam’s hips hard and flipped them around with a violent twist; Liam landing with a thump on his back. 

“Harry, what?” Liam looked disoriented and upset, but Harry just reared back and pounded him relentlessly, using him as a hole to get off in. “Oh!”

“Fuck, you love it, don’t you?” he taunted Liam, fucking into him. “You’re so fucking desperate for cock all the time. You’ll take it from anywhere, won’t you? Let anyone dick you, as long as your tight, hot hole is getting fucked.” Liam gasped and bit into Harry’s shoulder. Harry didn’t know why he was surprised this turned Liam on.

“You need it so much I’m amazed you’re not just offering it up downstairs for free. Or maybe you are and I’ve just missed it, hey, Liam? Have I missed you telling the others to come and get it when they’re desperate? Have you been giving out freebies and not inviting me? Do they fuck you individually or do they get a group rate when you’re feeling _really_ slutty?”

Liam _jumped_ and came like a fucking rocket – hips jerking wildly as his whole body shuddered, crying incoherently into Harry’s ear and squeezing his thighs tightly around his waist. His nails dug into Harry’s biceps and he was sure Liam drew blood, but he was too busy trying to stay on him to check. Liam’s body was contracting spastically and it was like trying to ride a fucking mechanical bull at full pelt. 

Harry laughed breathlessly, still fucking him hard. “Fuck, even the _thought_ of being gangbanged gets you off. You’re such a filthy puppy, Liam, what am I going to do with you?” Liam whimpered and Harry sped his thrusts up, getting ready to come. “Are you going to be a good boy for me from now on, Liam? Going to do what I say and let me have your sweet little arse when I want it?” Liam just moaned, letting Harry get himself worked up and worked off.

“Fuck, I’m coming, Liam, I’m coming in your tight hole, I’m – fuuuuck.” Harry’s body snaked and writhed, instinctively working into Liam as deep as he could get while he groaned out long and raspy and unashamed. When his orgasm had reduced to tingling pin pricks in the base of his spine, he collapsed on top of Liam, slowly becoming aware of the warm, squishy flood surrounding his dick. 

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He’d never been a fan of condoms in the aftermath. It was like when you stuck your arm in one of those mystery boxes at summer fêtes and got a hand covered in Fairy Liquid or custard – only it wasn’t your hand it was you dick. And it wasn’t custard, it was rapidly cooling cum in a bag of squeaky latex.

Harry rolled off Liam and fell next to him, quickly removing the condom and tossing it on the floor, wiping himself off with a pair of Liam’s old pants. He was panting deeply – sticky and exhausted like Winnie-the-Pooh after his friends had popped him out of Rabbit’s burrow – way more out of shape than he thought. He’d stopped going to the gym with Liam months before.

After a few minutes his breath came back and he got up and wandered to the mini bar, pulling out three tiny bottles of vodka and drinking them straight, before gathering his clothes. He put his jeans on and balled the rest up in his fist.

“I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” he nodded to Liam, like that would take care of any unpleasantness.

Liam didn’t respond, just continued to lie on his back, naked and filthy, staring at the ceiling. 

Harry got to the door before Liam called out, “You shouldn’t have pushed me tonight, Harry,” like he couldn’t let him leave without saying it.

Harry gritted his teeth. “You shouldn’t have pushed _me_ tonight, Liam.” 

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

 

When Harry was little, his mother’s friends would squeeze his cheeks and smile at him, and say he was the most polite boy they’d ever met.

His mother would beam at him proudly and say he was lovely.

He felt warm inside.

When Harry was 21, his publicist pulled him into his office and told him to be ruder in interviews. Told him they needed to market him as the one that parents wouldn’t like their daughters to bring home.

That was the first time he started to feel cold inside.

 

She’s bolshy, this interviewer, Harry’ll give her that.

She asks inappropriate questions and pushes for answers, and maybe it’s cause there’s a language barrier but Harry thinks she’s trying to vaguely come on to all of them. 

He likes it. He likes confident women now. Ones who don’t get embarrassed and nervous around him. It’s why he sits forward, leaning into her since he’s the closest, and flirts back – laughing and making totally unsubtle innuendos about the scenic mountainous regions and smooth plains of São Paulo, until the whole thing borders on pornographic and their PR rep starts shaking her head and trying to stop the cameras rolling.

Liam’s sitting next to him, leaning away. He’d started out the interview comfortably wedged next to Harry, but as it’s gone on he’s become progressively more distant, pressing back against Zayn and not engaging with Harry’s comments or jokes.

Fuck him. If Liam wants to spend the day acting like a pissy girlfriend he can. Harry won’t let it spoil his fun. It’s not like he’s fucking around anymore, which Liam should realise since he’s been with him for the past five nights straight, dragging him to his room every evening and not leaving till morning. He’s been good. Does Liam not realise how much free pussy is offered to him on a daily basis?

Like right now, this bit of Brazilian totty is offering herself to him on a plate, giving him eyes that are not suitable for public TV. But he’s still planning to bang the shit out of Liam later. Follow him back to the hotel after this, throw him down and feed him his cock. What more does he want?

The interview ends and the woman sticks around, clings to him for a bit. He fobs her off onto Louis when he can and then surreptitiously tells one of their security guys to get rid of her.

He looks over to Liam, trying to get some kind of confirmation that they can go soon and have mutually beneficial orgasms, but he’s in a corner sulking into his phone. 

Harry goes over to him. “You almost ready to leave?” 

Liam gets up without making eye contact and walks away.

Harry doesn’t know what the fuck Liam wants from him.

 

Zayn knew about them.

Harry knew Zayn knew about them.

After that first night when Harry dragged Liam away from Zayn, they went from being indifferent to each other, to being monosyllabic when they were alone, and flat-out _hostile_ when Liam was in the room. Those times it was raging war to see who would get Liam’s attention.

Harry always won. 

It should make him feel secure, but Liam still talked to Zayn. Still laughed with Zayn. Still huddled with him in corners and had private little chats where it looked like they were trying to solve the secrets of the universe.

And Zayn still lectured Liam. Whether it was in angry hushed whispers on the other side of the room, or with disappointed judging eyes as Harry led Liam away. Zayn had an opinion of this thing they were doing and he didn’t like Liam doing it.

So yeah, Zayn knew.

But Harry was fucking Liam.

Zayn could fuck himself.

 

“It does not suit the world to hear that people who are leading a high life, an enviable life, a privileged life are as miserable most days as anybody else, despite the fact that it must be obvious they would be – given that we are all agreed that money and fame do not bring happiness.”

– Stephen Fry

 

Harry bangs on Liam’s door with a heavy fist, pissed Liam had managed to duck him after the interview wrapped and come back to the hotel alone.

Or at least he’d hoped he was alone. It’s Zayn who answers the door.

“What the fuck do you want?” He’s blocking the entrance, so Harry knows Liam must be in there.

“Liam ran off without his bollocks, I wanted to give them back to him,” he sneers, trying to taunt Liam into coming out to him. It’s Zayn’s eyes that flash though, and he lunges for Harry, catching him in a head-lock before he can react.

Harry might need to reconsider being only a little bit out of shape, because Zayn easily drags him into the hallway and throws him up against the wall, holding him in place with a hand on his throat. “Get off me, dickhead!” Harry may be taller but he can’t escape the grip, not even when he twists and pushes at Zayn with his hands. 

“Zayn! What the hell –” Liam flies out the door and grabs Zayn around the middle, pulling him off and body-hugging him back to the room. 

Stunned, Harry rubs at his throat, coughing melodramatically and trying to work out the ache in his shoulders where there’ll certainly be a bruise tomorrow. When it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be anyone to perform for anytime soon, he squats down, back pressed against the wall, and just stares resentfully at the closed door.

Harry can hear hushed voices through the buzzing in his ears, and after a few minutes they begin to raise, becoming clear. 

“…possibly be thinking of going back with him!”

Then Liam’s only slightly quieter, “...my choice, Zayn, I know what I’m doing.”

“Neither of you do, you’re both fucking masochists!” Zayn yells, and there’s another slamming door from inside, presumably the bathroom.

It takes a while before Liam comes shuffling back out to him, and by then Harry’s managed to pull himself together, settling back into comfortable apathy.

Liam leans against the wall across from where he’s sitting on the floor, hands wedged in his pockets. “You okay?” he asks, less concerned than Harry would like.

“M’fine. Didn’t want to hurt him, y’know? Thought it’d be better to just not engage,” he explains offhand, trying for pitiful and in need of coddling to gain some of Liam’s sympathy. And maybe to feel out whether he’s back on Harry’s side. 

Liam rolls his eyes like he’s fully aware he just saved Harry’s face. 

He offers Harry a hand and he takes it, letting Liam pull him to his feet. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.” 

Harry dives onto his bed once they get back to his room, flipping over and waiting for Liam to join him, eager to get the show on the road.

Liam doesn’t follow him. Just bumbles around the room picking up various bits of dirty washing and putting them in a pile in a corner, throwing away empty mini-bar bottles and pairing up his shoes.

“Are you staying tonight?” he asks when it becomes clear Liam has no intention of coming to bed, instead choosing to give the maid a fucking hand.

“Depends if you want me to, doesn’t it?” he mumbles, and Harry can see the pout even with his back turned.

“Don’t be dense, Liam,” he snorts. “Why do you think I came to your room before?”

“I dunno? Maybe to tell me you don’t need me tonight cause you have that reporter,” Liam says, grumpy as fuck.

Harry scoffs derisively and props himself on his elbows. “Jesus, is this about last week? I’m not shagging other people anymore, Liam, stop getting your knickers in such a fucking twist. And tell your dopey side-kick to stop acting like I’m using you as a free hooker, it’s getting boring.”

Liam looks down, folding Harry’s ratty black jeans carefully.

“You want to be here, don’t you, Liam?” It’s a question, but it’s also a taunt, and Liam flushes red cause yeah, it’s the truth. Harry knows how much he loves it. Loves his cock. Loves choking on it and then riding it while Harry whispers in his ear that he’s a filthy slut who’s gagging for dick. “Don’t go tonight, Liam,” he says, like he’s soothing a skittish horse. “Come to bed.”

He tells himself he just really wants to get laid tonight. He tells himself if Liam stays when Zayn so vehemently doesn’t want him to, then he’ll have had the last laugh. 

When Liam crawls begrudgingly into bed beside him, he doesn’t think either of those things though.

He shuts off what he does think. It’s not who he is anymore.

 

Three months before Harry and Liam started fucking, the record label told Harry he had to cancel his first week home at his mum’s in a year. They needed him to fly to New York and do a series of damage control interviews, because he fucked a girl that turned out to be the daughter of a senator.

He refused.

The lawyers called the next day and quoted excerpts from his iron clad contract.

He cancelled on his mum and went.

That was when the drinking started.

 

At first Liam had been _all_ over Harry. Constantly. He only needed the slightest provocation before he was following Harry into a corner. Pushing him into a lift and mauling him on the way up to his room. Dropping to his knees when it was just them and their driver in the car and they had thirty long minutes to get somewhere. 

Liam also used to be up for _anything_.

Zayn and Liam had been glaring at each for a week, the problem coming to a head on an overnight bus trip into Mexico City.

Harry was lying on his bunk, earbuds blasting, when he heard a ruckus even over the sounds of Tinie Tempah pounding his head. He tapped pause and sat up to watch the scene taking place in the shitty kitchenette – Liam and Zayn fighting about who ate the last of the biscuits, while Niall stood between them, eyes wild and worried. 

Harry didn’t think the fight was strictly about who had the last chocolate Hobnob, but it seemed incredibly important to Liam, who scrunched up the packet and threw it at Zayn’s head. Without catching the beginning it was hard to say why, but Liam apparently couldn’t have his tea without biscuits, and he threw the full mug into the sink. It splattered over the floor and walls, narrowly missing Zayn, (although not from lack of trying, judging by the look on Liam’s face.)

Harry felt a certain amount of schadenfreude when Liam stormed angrily to the back of the bus, kind of like roundabout revenge for Zayn treating him like shit. He grinned cheerily at Zayn, revelling in the way he narrowed his eyes and flipped him off. 

An unkind idea sparked to life in Harry’s mind, and since he was bored and playing this up sounded like fun, he acted on it. 

He got up and followed Liam to the back, finding him stropping about, throwing clothes angrily into piles that presumably made sense to him. “Everything alright?” he asked, sympathetic, but not enough for Liam to twig. 

Liam startled and turned to face him, sighing when he saw it was Harry. “I’m fine, it’s just… _Zayn_. He thinks he knows everything.”

Harry didn’t know what he meant and frankly couldn’t give a toss, but he nodded understandingly anyway. “And let’s not forget he’s an evil biscuit thief.”

Liam laughed, exhausted. “Yeah, that too. God, what a stupid thing to get mad about. I’ll have to go and apologise in a bit.”

“Really?” Harry asked like he was surprised. “It’s not like you to get that angry unless there’s a reason. It’s none of my business, but Zayn must have said or done something pretty bad for you to blow up like that.” 

“He didn’t – he’s – he thinks he’s trying to protect me. He treats me like I’m his thick little brother sometimes. One that doesn’t realise when he’s being taken advantage of.” 

In a way, Harry gets that. Liam had always seemed more naive than the rest of them. The dumb jock to Zayn’s brooding intellectual. The sweet romantic hero to Harry’s overt sexual dominance. Slow to get to Louis’ quick jokes. Even now he doesn’t have the self-preservation to think the worst of Harry. To question why he’s here.

“Well, then maybe you need to show him you can handle yourself. Spend a few days away from him, so he can see you’re independent.”

“I don’t know, Harry, I don’t want things to be weird. I hate it when things are tense. Besides, I have to share a room with him tomorrow.”

“No you don’t, you can bunk in with me.” 

“Um, I don’t –“ Liam floundered, shocked, which Harry understood. He’d been knobbing him all month long, but they’d never slept together. Harry had never so much as stuck around to watch Liam clean up. “No, Harry, I’ll just find Zayn and say sorry. It was a stupid fight anyway.”

“Stay with me,” Harry said earnestly, with eyes that had convinced many a boy and girl to drop their drawers. “It’s about time I shared with someone else, and I’d rather it be you than any of the others.” That was true at least. With Liam he got orgasms and a shut mouth.

“Okay. That’s really nice of you, Harry, thanks.” Liam shot him a smile and went back to organising piles of shirts and jumpers.

Harry smirked. Everything with Liam was so bloody easy. 

The next morning they arrived at the hotel, Harry plastered to Liam’s side, playing the supportive friend. Every minute Liam wasn’t looking was spent grinning and winking at Zayn over his shoulder. The look Zayn shot him when Harry told Paul he’d be sharing with Liam this time was enough to wither his soul if he had one, but Harry just waggled his eyebrows and led Liam away, hand comforting and obvious in the small of his back.

He convinced Liam to spend the day by the pool, taking the lounger next to him and offering to apply sunblock. Liam didn’t seem suspicious in the slightest, spending the morning happily flicking through magazines, going to the bar to fetch drinks, and swimming laps while Harry watched on, not above perving at Liam’s lithe body cutting through the water.

Zayn came out after lunch, and Harry took great pleasure in Liam ignoring him, climbing out of the pool and walking straight back to Harry. He shook his hair out, dripping on him, and Harry laughed for Zayn’s benefit, waving sunnily over at him. 

They stayed out until the sun began to dim, Harry turning a decent shade of brown and Liam ending up caramel, buttery – edible if he was honest. He never denied Liam was a looker. 

Liam sat up, throwing a shirt over his head and telling Harry he was bored. Harry nodded and got up to face him, stretching lazily. He was just about to say they should go up and changed for dinner, when he noticed Zayn walking over, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, looking contrite. Harry knew it would end with an apology and an arse boring reconciliation, and then the day would have all been to cock.

Without thinking, he leaned forward, catching Liam’s mouth with sun chapped lips and juice wet tongue. He kept his eyes open at first, staring at Zayn as he stumbled and gaped, face quickly morphing into a deathly glare. He threw his arms up and spun to walk away, disgusted, but Harry was distracted. 

Liam’s tongue came out to tentatively meet his and Harry made a noise in spite of himself, guttural and hoarse. It encouraged Liam. He opened his mouth, sucking sweetly at Harry’s top lip, and it suddenly occurred to Harry why this felt so strange. He’d never kissed Liam before. Not in all the time they’d been getting off together.

Liam was careful and chaste, doing no more than teasing Harry’s tongue with shy glances. Harry instinctively took over, tongue invading Liam’s mouth and exploring, and Liam surrendered, humming like he was trying to find a note. Harry kissed him deeper, curious and interested, a token for winning the day from Zayn.

Liam pulled back and Harry chased his mouth, missing something, needing more time to find it.

“Lets – Lets go upstairs,” Liam gasped, and Harry nodded, dick taking over.

They fell into his room kissing frantically, Harry holding Liam by the front of his shirt. He pushed him down onto the floor once he’d kicked the door closed with his boot, too desperate to make it to the bed. Harry rummaged around his wallet for the packet of lube he’d started keeping there, sick of being unprepared when Liam got horny somewhere inconvenient. 

“Get your kit off and get on all fours,” he ordered absently, busy peeling down his shorts with his free hand.

Liam flicked off the threadbare vest and kicked off his own trunks, turning over, immediately pushing back and keening. Harry stared intently at him – head down, arse up, spreading his legs so Harry could see _everything_ – almost wanting to film it and keep it for posterity

Harry kneeled behind Liam on the plush carpet, thankful they could afford luxury hotels, and ripped the lube packet open with his teeth. Liam whimpered steadily once Harry got his slick fingers inside him, stretching him as quickly as he could in his present state. The sight of Liam – ready, begging, desperate – made Harry fucking crazy. Made him want to do something filthy, _nasty_ , something he’d be able to whisper into Liam’s ear the next day and watch him flush and bite his lip, unable to meet Zayn’s eye.

It was that madness that made him grab the back of Liam’s head and yank him up, leaning over and growling, “I want to fuck you raw, Liam, okay?” directly into his ear.

Liam whined and Harry kept spouting filth. “I want to fuck you so there’s nothing in you but my dick. And then I want to come so hard up in you that it drips down your legs tomorrow. I want to make you filthy with me. That’s okay, right? You want that. Filthy puppies like you always want that, don’t they, Liam?” 

He released Liam’s head and slapped his arse so there was a red handprint clear on his tanned skin when he pulled back. Liam just grunted out into the carpet and rolled his head back and forth like he was delirious.

“Say it’s ok, Liam. Say I can come in you.” Harry had never gone bareback before. Not in his whole, vast sexual experience. But with Liam it felt vital. Felt like something he needed to make it… real.

Liam bit into the back of his hand. “Yes, Harry, I want that. I do, I do, I want it.”

Harry sunk down into Liam, pushing past the resistance at his rim and deep inside, until his dick felt like it was surrounded by lava and he was making dirty, guttural noises that he never even knew he could produce. He was going mental with how Liam felt right now, wrapped tight around his dick, nothing between them, letting Harry have at him and begging for more the harder he pounded.

“Fuck, this feels incredible. You’re so hot, so tight, I can feel you _moving_ , Liam, fuck,” he babbled, thrusting ruthlessly, lost in overwhelming new sensation. He kept pulling back to look at where they were joined, watching himself slip bare and wet in and out of Liam’s clenching, pink hole. Harry was slightly in awe of the feeling, snug and intimate, every thrust like a red hot claim.

He felt it in the base of his spine before he came and braced himself on Liam’s hips, letting the first euphoric shots go inside him, _so_ much better than releasing in a condom. With herculean effort he pulled out and started stripping his cock, spraying thick and dirty onto Liam’s dick, balls, and what he could manage to aim on his wide open hole, still clenching from Harry’s rapid exit. It looked like the filthiest, most amazing mess he’d ever made, and Harry couldn’t help but push one of Liam’s cheeks further apart, burning the image into his memory.

He wanted to collapse after, but he let himself fall over Liam instead, head resting on the carpet next to him. “Wank that cock for me, Liam. Make yourself come while you’ve got my spunk inside you, coating your insides and making you mine. Do it, Liam. I want to see how much you can hold inside while your little hole spasms out of control for me.” 

Liam came with a cry that hurt Harry’s ears, hips jerking uncontrollably, smacking back into Harry’s softening dick. He spanked him again on the side of his thigh – Liam giving one final spasm when he did, and Harry noted it for later.

Liam collapsed like a lump after, and Harry found himself grabbing a discarded beach towel and wiping them down. He gathered Liam up in his arms when it didn’t appear he’d be moving anytime soon, and walked him to the bed, crawling in next to him. 

He lay next to Liam, listening to his shaky breaths, thinking about what just happened between them on the floor. Harry had never seen Liam come that hard. Harry didn’t think _he’d_ ever come that hard. He also couldn’t think of anyone else who would have trusted Harry to let him do what he just did, no questions asked. Harry didn’t know if Liam was misguided, or just as thick as Zayn thought.

Nevertheless, he fell asleep thinking about when they could do it again.

They stopped using condoms after that. 

 

More often than not, Harry’s the one that goes to Liam now. When he’s stressed or angry or just fed up with the shit that gets said about him on a daily basis, he seeks out Liam wherever he is – which in their group is never far.

He doesn’t know if Liam’s stopped being able to read him; stopped being able to sense when he’s in need of relief and just wants to forget for a while. He doesn’t know if after six months he’s just getting bored with the sex – but he’s never there for him anymore. Never meets his eye at exactly the right moment. Never strokes a suggestive hand over his back in a particularly trying interview. Never pulls him aside after a signing and whispers in his ear that he wants Harry to take him to the hotel _now_ , cause he’s desperate to be fucked.

So Harry starts to initiate every encounter with Liam. Starts to lead him away from conversations with people they’ve never met with teasing fingers on the back of his neck. Starts to text him to meet in the toilet, pushing him to his knees when he gets there. Starts to whisper in his ear at dinner that he’s a bad boy that needs a good seeing to, before dragging him up to his room. 

And Harry doesn’t know why, but it somehow makes the sex ten times better when he’s the one that instigates it.

He needs Liam tonight. He’s spent the day trying to ignore 72 point font headlines in every newspaper declaring him the father of Selena Gomez’s illegitimate baby. And he’s never met her, but it doesn’t stop every blogger from here to Bucharest talking about how he’s the world’s biggest deadbeat scumbag. 

His manager and the girl from PR have every publication from today spread across the tables and counters in his hotel room, as they argue with each other over the best course of action to take and yell into their phones about who they’re going to sue.

By 8 o’clock he’s just _done_. He slips away easily, (they stopped paying attention to him somewhere around the 16th time he insisted it was in no way – couldn’t _possibly_ – be true), and heads for Liam and Zayn’s room, fully prepared to deal with Zayn’s open hostility and occasional violence to be with Liam tonight.

Luckily, it’s Liam that opens the door, tilting his head like a befuddled, sleepy teddy. “Hi.” 

“Hey. Can I come in, or is Zayn about?” he asks carefully.

“No, he’s out for the night, over in Niall and Louis’ room. They’re playing video games and Zayn says he wants to be there when they fight,” Liam says, and Harry uses the opportunity to slide by Liam into the room. “What’s going on? I thought with everything that happened you’d be forced to stay in all night.” Liam closes the door and turns round to look at him.

“Yeah, I was, but everyone’s too busy worrying about my image to be concerned about where I actually am. So I snuck out. Can I hang out here for a while?” he asks, but he’s already plonked down on the sofa and made himself comfortable.

Liam shuffles over, standing stiff and cautious across from him. “Yeah, Haz. Of course.” 

Harry smiles, body sprawled out and relaxed, and lets his eyes wander over Liam. Pretty, welcoming, uncomplicated Liam.

“Do you want something to drink? Zayn has some pretentious beers in the fridge,” he offers politely.

“That’d be good.” 

Liam moves to the fridge and grabs a bottle, popping the top on the counter – a trick they learned together on their first trip to the States. “So, what’s been happening? Did they get everything sorted out yet?” Liam hands him the icy bottle, shivering when Harry strokes a finger over his.

“Y’know what, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Liam’s eyes dim and he starts to play with the hems of his sleeves. “Oh, sorry.” 

“Because it’s not very fucking interesting, Liam. Let’s talk about something that’s not pointless bullshit. Like when was the last time you got off?” He bangs the bottle on the coffee table and leans forward, resting his hands under his chin and smiling impishly. 

“Harry!” Liam giggles all crinkle-eyed and blushing, cause yeah, Harry knows he’s cute when he wants to be.

“Was it three nights ago when I fingered you over the coffee table? In which case it’s far too long, we should do something about that.” 

Liam keeps laughing but shakes his head. “Harry, it’s been a really long day for you. Maybe you should go and relax somewhere.”

“This _is_ where I come to relax,” he says honestly, and Liam’s eyes widen like this is new information. “You knew that.”

“No, I didn’t. But, it’s nice. I’m glad I can help you,” he bites his lip and nods.

“You know what would really help me right now?” Harry stands up, nose to nose with Liam, and walks him back until he’s crowded against the wall, pulling off the leather jacket he’d thrown on before he left. 

Liam watches unblinkingly, head tilted up as Harry leans over him, breathing heavily against his mouth. His eyes are all dark pupil, blown wide from being turned on and loomed over, and Harry takes his wrists in his hands, pushing them against the wall above his head without resistance.

“Oh,” Liam gasps, and Harry takes that to mean _yes_.

Liam’s almost panting, cock a hard outline against his jeans, looking fucking _edible_ , and Harry catches his bottom lip in his teeth, tugging and nipping, soothing the hurt after with his tongue.

“Please, Harry,” Liam whimpers, hips bumping up, trying to get some friction for his dick. 

Harry presses himself against Liam fully, pinning him against the wall with his body and taking his mouth in a slick, hot kiss that’s all tongue and puffy lips. He only lets go of Liam’s wrists to remove his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and tugging down his jeans and boxers, putting his foot over them when they hit the floor so Liam can pull his legs out.

Liam’s cock pops up, straining for attention, and Harry immediately takes it in his hand, diving back in to snog Liam, deep and desperate. Liam moans into his mouth, arms still above his head, and Harry uses his free hand to reach back up and bind both wrists with his long fingers. Liam’s pinned, totally at Harry’s mercy, and more than feeling powerful this time, he feels _protective_ – like he’s been entrusted with something extraordinary. 

He wanks Liam faster in time with his desperate hip jerks and soft exhales against his mouth, using the leaking precum from his throbbing dick to coat him with slickness. Harry moves his hand up and down, twisting, alternating the pressure long enough that Liam’s cheeks pink, and he pants and sweats so much, Harry can trace the drops falling down his temple and onto his heaving chest.

Liam’s breath hitches, signalling he’s getting close and Harry releases his wrists and dick, slipping the lube packet out of his pocket and slicking his fingers. Harry drags one of Liam’s legs over his hip so he has easy access to his hole and bites frenzied at his neck, chin and mouth while he snakes his fingers between his cheeks and finds his hole.

Liam keens and begs so prettily as Harry fingers him open, using the leverage from the leg around Harry’s waist to hump into him, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Harry swirls his fingers, scissoring and curling them while Liam relaxes and lets him in, and when he feels him begin to suck and clench, Harry decides he’s had enough and he needs inside Liam _now_.

He drops his jeans without dropping Liam’s leg, not bothering to remove his t-shirt or kick his way out of his bottoms. He isn’t wearing underwear so his dick is already slick with sweat and precum and he uses it to slide into Liam, carefully at first, picking up speed and force as Liam begins crying out in needy bursts, pulling Harry in with clutching hands in the small of his back.

Harry takes Liam’s wrists back in his hands and fucks the rest of him back into the wall with his cock, still kissing him deeply; only leaving his mouth to trail a map of bruises over his neck, shoulders and chest. His head is filled with nothing except how he's _inside_ Liam, and he can feel the stress melting away from his _bones_.

He fucks slowly for them – deep, long rolls of his hips up into Liam until he’s shaking with it, stopping when it gets too much and just _pressing_ inside, holding himself there and bouncing them gently.

It’s a long, slick, humid time before they’re both coming; Harry gasping into Liam’s mouth as he sees through fucking space, murmuring incoherently about his tight hole, his sexy mouth, how much he pleases Harry’s cock. Liam prises himself away to groan gutturally into Harry’s shoulder, spunking wet and hard between them.

They collapse back onto Liam’s bed when they’re done, Harry removing his sweaty shirt and kicking off his jeans. He flicks on the TV and pulls Liam in, feeling drained and delicate, wrapping himself around Liam and pressing his face into his neck for a cuddle. Liam lets out a tiny sigh, and after a few breaths relaxes into Harry, slides a hand over his ribs and rests his palm on his back.

They half watch a show about sports bloopers for a while, Harry laughing into Liam’s shoulder when something particularly funny happens, hissing when it looks painful. Eventually, Liam starts to join in, giggling and crying out with him, squirming comfortably in his arms.

“This is nice,” Liam whispers, and Harry doesn’t respond cause it _is_.

By the time the credits roll, he notices Liam’s droopy-eyed gaze, and remembers he’s an early riser and this is probably way past his bedtime. Harry’s actually wiped out from the day he’s had, so he turns off the TV and the light switch next to the headboard, shuffling under the sheets and pulling them back until Liam joins him. 

They lie with their heads on the same pillow in blissful silence, the pitch black of the room only broken by the strip of hallway light at the bottom of the door, and Harry feels like he’s managed to escape something. Like when his parents fought before their divorce, and he’d run outside and climb up to his tree house, pull a blanket over his head and sing until his throat hurt.

He kisses Liam lightly on the shoulder just as he’s losing consciousness and mutters, “Night, Puppy,” into his skin.

Harry doesn’t know if he dreams it, but it feels like Liam’s whole body melts into him.

 

The next morning, Harry untangles himself from Liam’s octopus limbs and sneaks out before he wakes up. He doesn’t know what last night was about. Doesn’t want to analyse why his fucking terrible day made him want to be with Liam so badly. Doesn’t want to think about why his day didn’t feel so fucking _terrible_ once he’d lost himself in Liam’s body.

For the first time he starts to wonder why this is the best sex he’s ever had. But he doesn’t get very far before he shakes the whole thing off. That’s not a question he needs to be asking, now or _ever_.

He makes his way down to the breakfast buffet, spotting Zayn, Louis and Niall on a corner table; sunglasses on, plates piled high with greasy food, looking like they’d been up all night getting wankered. As strained as the relationship between him and the others had been lately, it would still be too weird to ignore them, so he stacks a plate full of bacon and bread and makes his way over to the table.

They barely acknowledge him. Louis grunts and tilts his head in his direction, Niall gives him a wave with a floppy hand, and Zayn just glares from behind his sunglasses. 

Harry ignores Zayn. He’s the last person he wants to deal with this morning.

He assembles a bacon sandwich out of the food in front of him, listening to Louis and Niall argue over who actually won last night, which Harry knows from experience will soon devolve into shouting and angry demands for a rematch.

Harry gets through two bacon sarnies and a pot of tea, before Niall’s poking him. “Harry, tell Louis it doesn’t count as a win if he gets tips from the bloke who invented the game!”

“How about you tell Niall, it doesn’t matter if I do, it was still me playing!” Louis screeches back, making Harry wince.

“Oh, um, I couldn’t fucking care less,” he drawls, leaning away from the finger in his arm.

Niall sighs and turns back to Louis, and Harry doesn’t miss the look they shoot each other. Fucking muppets.

They go back to fighting amongst themselves, and Harry continues to pointedly ignore Zayn, who’s alternately sucking down cups of coffee and leaving for the balcony to suck down cigarettes. When he’s at the table, he shoots Harry these accusing and disgusted looks, like if they were only alone he could grab him by the throat again and maybe put his head through the wall this time. 

It’s quickly pissing Harry off. He’s so over Zayn and his self-righteous bullshit. Always staring at him like he’s judging him for how he’s turned out – like he can’t believe they lead the same life but Harry’s let it change him. As if Zayn gets all the same fucking crap Harry gets on a daily basis. 

He doesn’t. Harry gets it the worst. He _always_ has. From the paps, from the music snobs, from the PR company who fuck him over every time they want to make money, so for the past five years he’s been called into their offices alone once a fortnight to be royally butt-raped for a headline. Zayn has _no fucking idea_. 

And he doesn’t know what Liam fucking sees in him either. Especially since he seems to have such a strong opinion about what they’re doing, like it’s any of his fucking business.

By the time Liam comes down from his room, looking sleep rumpled and happy, plonking himself in-between him and Zayn, Harry’s already angry _way_ beyond what’s healthy at this point in the morning. 

Liam reaches across for juice and smiles at Harry, all ducked head and shy, handing the first glass he pours over to him. Harry accepts it, glass cold in his numb hands, and tries to figure out when everything got so stupidly… _weird_. Louis and Niall keep chattering over them, but Zayn’s staring warily; indecipherable look on his face when Liam goes to get food and comes back with two bowls for himself and Harry, full of rhubarb and raspberry yoghurt on apple muesli, and fruit.

Harry feels like he’s missing something. Like he’s drowning and he didn’t even know he was in the water. 

He sits glued to his chair for a minute, watching Liam hum and grin his way through breakfast. He doesn’t know what’s going on this morning. With Liam _or_ him. 

Liam turns to him with big eyes and a benign smile, and tells him to, “Eat some fruit, Harry, it’s good for you.” 

He snaps, hissing viciously, “What the fuck would you know about what’s good for me? You’re not my fucking girlfriend.” 

Liam’s face drops. He looks like Harry punched him in the stomach and then punched a panda for fun.

Harry doesn’t care.

Liam’s eyes start to shine and he looks down at the table for a minute. Zayn strokes a hand over his shoulder soothingly, which Harry immediately wants to _break_ , but Liam shakes it off and shoves his chair back with an angry scrape, leaving the room, not looking back at any of them. 

Zayn looks at him like he’s dirt.

Harry _doesn’t_ care.

 

Harry doesn’t see Liam until late afternoon. He’s been out all day, dicking around town, managing to get some shopping done in between dodging screaming girls and the paps, and now he’s on his way back to his room, which requires him to go past Liam and Zayn’s. 

They all share a floor on tour, so most of the daytime is spent with their doors open so they can filter in and out, making it like one big apartment space. It’s no exception now, even though Harry keeps his door closed more often than not.

He stops when he gets to their door, and sees Zayn sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, legs stretched out. Liam’s lying with his head in his lap, curled up in the fetal position, looking like he’s dozing as Zayn runs a hand through his hair. His face is puffy from crying.

Zayn looks up and meets Harry’s eyes like he’s challenging him to come closer, glaring like he’s trying to burn a hole into Harry’s brain. Harry feels a red hot rage bubble up from the pit of his gut, until he’s overcome with the need to dive over there and rip Zayn’s fucking arm from its socket and bury him alive under the floorboards.

He drops his bags and stalks over to Liam, shaking at his shoulder until he opens his eyes.

“Oi, leave him the fuck alone, you cunt!” Zayn yells. 

Harry ignores him because Liam’s looking up at him through glazed, disorientated eyes like he’s not sure where he is. “Wha? Harry?” He scrubs a hand over his face.

“Get up, let’s go back to mine,” he orders petulantly, expecting Liam to follow.

Zayn’s trying to roll out from under Liam, presumably to kick the shit out of him, but Harry’s not bothered. “Oh, over my dead body, are you seriously fucking _kidding_ me?”

“Liam, c’mon,” Harry pulls at his arm, insistently. “I want to talk to you, come with me.” He’s admittedly sounding a little desperate, but he just wants Liam to come with him. Now. He’s not even sure why.

Liam’s quickly becoming aware of his surroundings – aware of what’s going on – and he sits up on the bed, pushing Harry’s hands away. “No, Harry. I’m not coming with you tonight,” he says firmly.

Harry takes his hands back, fingers interlocking with Liam’s like he _knows_ he likes. “Don’t be stupid, Liam. Come to my room, I need you.”

Liam seems to snap and rips his fingers out of Harry’s grip. “No, I don’t want to be with you tonight, Harry! Leave.”

Harry’s stunned that Liam just talked to him that way, but he doesn’t have a chance to respond because Zayn’s pulling his arms behind his back and shoving him towards the door. “That’s enough! Go and get your shit together, you useless _fuck_.” He throws him into the hallway and bangs the door behind him.

Harry slams his fist into the closed door and screams, “Fuck!” into the hallway, fuming. 

Liam and Zayn don’t respond.

He eventually manages to gain enough control of himself to grab his stuff and stomp back to his room, ignoring the throbbing pain in his knuckles.

It feels like his whole _shitty_ world is falling apart.

 

Harry’s lying on his bed two hours later, feeling incredibly sorry for himself. 

He’d taken a shower when he got back to the room, standing under the scalding hot spray until his skin was red and tender. After, he’d knocked back a screwdriver that he jimmied out of a mini bottle of vodka and a box of orange squash. 

At least he feels numb now. 

He’s considering getting up and calling room service to bring him supplies to get rip-roaring wankered, when he hears a timid knock at the door.

He rolls off the bed bonelessly, working himself up for whoever’s on the other side before he gets there. He opens the door to Liam biting his lip and looking anxious, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Hi,” he says, looking like he’s expecting the door slammed in his face. Harry’s considering it, but he’s also really curious about what Liam wants. “Can I come in?” He kicks at the carpet with the toe of a sneaker.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just moves aside and lets Liam pass, closing the door behind him. He turns and stares Liam down, wondering what else this crap day has to throw at him. 

Liam seemed pretty arsed off with him before. Maybe he’s here to tell him Zayn says it’s pistols at dusk. Maybe he’s here to knock Harry out himself.

“What’s going on, Liam? Do you want your friendship bracelet back?”

“Just – Don’t, Harry, okay? I just wanted – just… just…” Liam shocks the hell out of Harry by pushing himself up the balls of his feet and catching him in a deep, enthusiastic kiss. He reaches his arms around Harry’s neck and tugs them together, until he thinks Liam’s trying to crawl into his mouth.

Harry stands confused for a moment, giving his brain time to catch up with his dick and he grabs Liam around the waist and _hauls_ him up, kissing back with just as much fervour, half amazed that this isn’t going to end in a fight, but with desperate, rough sex.

Liam’s clinging to him like a tree he’s trying to climb, and Harry grabs the backs of his thighs and lifts him, Liam wrapping his legs around his waist so Harry can hold him by the arse. He walks them over to the bed as they kiss each other deep and wet, tongues tangling and teeth nipping at lips. He drops Liam onto his back at the foot of the bed, tossing his hair back as Liam bounces. “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,” he growls, licking the cry Liam releases out of his mouth.

Liam keeps his legs wrapped around his waist; moving Harry’s body with his thighs, pulling at him until he’s over Liam, knees on the sheets between his spread legs. Harry stands up to tug his shirt over his head, but Liam whines and reaches for him, trying to pull him back down with needy hands on his neck and shoulders.

“No, Harry, please, please…”

Harry grabs his hands and slaps them back to the bedspread authoritatively, thrill tingling down his spine as Liam gasps and submits. “Keep them there, Puppy, just like I taught you.” Liam’s fingers twist into the bed sheets, captive to Harry’s will, and the wash of possessiveness that crashes over Harry is _terrifying._

Harry rips his shirt and trousers off, coming back to the bed to remove Liam’s clothes, quickly getting him naked and pushing at his thighs until Harry’s holding him by the backs of his knees; big hands pressing Liam’s legs against his chest so he’s is spread open and slutty for him, wide open for Harry to use, fuck, do _anything_ he wants to him. 

Harry bends down and takes a firm, pink nipple into his mouth, biting down and sucking while Liam writhes, clawing at his back. He hisses through his teeth as Liam’s fingernails scratch long, scorching trails from the small of his back to the curve of his shoulders and he knows they’ll be visible tomorrow. Knows he’ll be able to look in the mirror and see his back glowing with the embroidery of Liam’s desperation and Harry _can’t wait._

Liam tilts up his hips so Harry’s dick gets wedged deliciously between his arse cheeks and Harry immediately starts to slide up and down between them, using the cum gathering at the tip of his cock to slick the way. He latches on to a patch of skin on Liam’s sculpted chest, just above his heart, wildly mouthing, laving, sucking, _biting_ at it as he gets faster and faster and Liam gets slipperier and slipperier, crying out ecstatically every time the head of Harry’s prick skims over his balls, and Harry gets it because it feels _incredible._

“Harry, fuck, that feels, _fuck_ …” 

It’s not long before Liam’s crack is a slick, wet mess, and Harry fucks into it, throbbing and hot and capable of just spunking over Liam’s tummy and dick here and now. He doesn’t want it to end like this though – not tonight. He wants to draw it out, make it last, work them both up until they’re savage with arousal, devouring each other until there’s nothing left for either of them to give.

Harry pulls himself back, right on the precipice, slowing until he comes to a dead stop and just lies on top of Liam’s heaving chest. He holds his red hot skin between his teeth until he fights his orgasm back to a low hum instead of a feral throb. 

After a few minutes, Liam starts to whimper needily, his hips pressing up and rubbing against Harry’s sensitive cock. 

Harry _growls_ , moving up to bury his face in Liam’s neck. “Shameless little tart,” he scolds him, pulling his hips back to tease the tip of his cock over Liam’s loosening hole, letting it catch on the edge as he moves in tight, purposeful circles.

“Fuck, I want to own you, Liam,” he grunts, biting bruises into his skin. “Put a fucking collar around your neck so everyone knows you’re mine. Put you on a leash when we’re alone and lead you right to my cock. You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby?” Liam keens and nods insistently, catching Harry’s mouth and licking into it.

Harry knows he’d _love_ it. Knows Liam loves being owned as much as Harry loves owning him. 

“Move up the bed, Liam, so I can straddle your face. I want to fuck your mouth, okay.” It’s not a request. Liam doesn’t need those and Harry doesn’t offer them. Just pushes Liam onto his back and crawls up the bed until he’s sitting on Liam’s broad chest, balls resting snugly at the base of his throat.

Harry grabs his thick, hard cock, pointing it down and raising up on his knees slightly, panting and sweating on Liam like kind of a pervert if he’s honest, and it’s obscene and nasty but they both _love_ it. Harry puts an arm above Liam’s head to hold himself steady as he leans over him, sliding the tip of his dick against Liam’s lips and chin until they’re shiny-slick with pre-fuck, and he feels Liam’s tongue dart out to catch the head in heavenly little kitten licks. He looks like he’s just eaten something messy and delicious, and Harry gasps. 

Liam closes his eyes and opens his mouth, letting Harry push past his lips and teeth and into warm wetness. He sucks him for a few moments, looking like he’s savouring the taste of him, before taking him all the way in – deep-throating Harry like only Liam can.

Harry flings his head back and _shouts_. 

He doesn’t stay that way for long though. He has to see the blissed-out look on Liam's face as he takes Harry’s cock. Has to see his dick stretching those swollen lips. Has to watch Liam relax his throat and take him down like that’s where Harry _belongs_.

He starts to fuck into Liam’s throat; slowly at first, picking up speed when Liam actually urges him on, moving his hands to Harry’s hips and tugging him into his mouth, encouraging him to set the pace and then just taking what Harry gives him.

Harry fucks his mouth until Liam can’t handle him comfortably anymore and starts to choke. Fucks past that until Liam’s all spit and precum and wrecked, red lips – and then goes even further, holding himself inside Liam’s mouth until he can feel his throat start to contract for air around him. He pulls out when it’s unbearable for _both_ of them, lets Liam gasp noisily for air for a few seconds, then pushes back in and does the same thing all over again.

He does it until he feels like he’s about to go out of his mind. Does it until he thinks he’ll never find anything that feels this fucking good again. Does it until he’s ready to come.

Then he pulls out and shoves Liam further up on the pillows, reaches for his discarded shirt and uses it to wipe hurriedly at his filthy face. He leans down to kiss him, tasting his spunk on Liam’s tongue. “Fuck, you take it so good, Liam. Take me in every hole like my perfect fucking slut. You’re such a good boy, Puppy. My good boy.”

Liam averts his eyes, wrapping his long legs around Harry’s waist. “Fuck me, Harry. Please. I want it.”

Liam humps his hips up and clutches at Harry’s arse, relentlessly trying to press him down and inside him. It’s agonising to resist, but Harry fights back against Liam’s greedy fingers, valiantly. His hole is slick and warm from the precum and spit Harry’s cock has rubbed into it, but Liam’s still _tight_. Liam’s _always_ tight for him – like his own pink-cheeked virgin every time – and damaging him seems like the wickedest sin in Harry’s crumbled belief system.

Harry grabs for the bottle of lube in the drawer, missing and knocking the alarm clock off on his first attempt, which is understandable since he can’t seem to pry his mouth away from Liam’s to so much as glance up at what he’s doing. He slicks up two fumbling fingers and opens Liam as carefully as he can while he’s shaking, just enough so he doesn’t hurt him. 

They lick and bite and babble as Harry lets his hips sink down, cock spearing Liam slow and steady; and Liam’s teeth sink into Harry’s bruised lower lip and latch on, Harry having to pull his hair until he lets go. Harry just rests inside Liam as they kiss and touch, Liam holding him inside his arse like a vice, keeping him hot and hard and slick. 

It’s Liam digging his heels into his thighs and scratching at his arms that makes Harry decide to move, just thrusting ponderously at first, like he has all the time in the world. He only speeds up when Liam’s desperate, needy cries and purposeful spasming of his anal muscles drive him _wild_ and he starts to fuck in brutally, pounding long powerful strokes into his arse and letting the filth spill from his lips again.

“Jesus fuck, Liam! Your fucking hole. I can’t even stand it. Nothing has ever felt as good around my cock as your tight, slutty arse, baby. Could stay here forever inside you. Just roll you over after and let my cock live in you until it comes up for air and fucks the cum out of you again. Yeah, Liam, you want that, right? You want that too?”

“Yes, Harry! Yes, Harry! Yes!” Liam’s chanting, wriggling around for attention on his own cock, pressing bruises into Harry’s arms and back with grasping, needy fingers as he loses total control.

He comes. Liam comes like Harry’s never seen anyone come before in his _life_. It’s transcendent and long and it looks almost painful to have, and if Harry feels tears on his neck he doesn’t mention it, just holds Liam through the aftershocks as he shudders and bucks and latches onto a chunk of Harry’s skin with his teeth.

He’s limp after – on the verge of passing out – and Harry knows from experience he’ll fall asleep soon. So he starts to fuck into him again; shoving hard and rough inside Liam, holding himself there for long moments. 

He needs six strokes and the feel of Liam’s cum sliding between them before he’s coming himself, roaring into Liam’s chest where he’s resting his forehead.

“Fuck, Liam that was amazing,” he groans when he gets his breath back, collapsing down between Liam’s thighs, not pulling out yet. “Can you feel me still inside you? I got deep this time, yeah? And I shot a fucking gigantic load, it’ll be dripping out of you for days. I’ll be able to use it as lube when I fuck you for the next week, babe.”

Liam shoots him a tight smile and nods.

“You’ll keep it in, yeah?” Harry asks, feeling kinky and nasty and like a fucking sex god. “You’ll keep me all in you so I’m stuck there, filling you, _owning_ you. You’ll do that for me right, Puppy?” he pleads, gravelly and fucked-out, not above begging for this.

“Mmm hmm,” Liam agrees when Harry takes his face in his palm, forcing him to look in his eyes and promise him. “I will Harry. I’ll keep you in me.”

“Good boy.” Harry lets him go then, pulling out, unable to resist putting his head down and watching Liam’s sore hole as it flutters and little drops of semen drip out of him slowly. He pushes back in with his index finger and Liam moans, crying out Harry’s name as he wiggles his finger around, soaking it, letting Liam clench and suck him in further. 

Harry slips out and licks the cum from his finger – mouth filling with salt and bitter and lust, until it’s wet with nothing but saliva – and then dips back down to carefully circle his abused rim again. “Tighten up, Liam. Don’t let me drip out.” Liam obediently complies, and Harry feels his dick twitch.

He knows Liam’s had enough for the night though, so he gets them settled under the covers, spooned skin to sticky skin, Harry’s hand resting on Liam’s shaky abs. 

“I’m glad you came over tonight. I thought you’d be bitchy for longer,” he says, relaxed and content.

“Yeah.” 

Harry drops a kiss on his salty neck. “This was fantastic.” 

“Yeah.”

“Get some rest, okay? I want to watch you ride my cock in the morning,” he whispers softly, lips brushing Liam’s ear.

Liam doesn’t answer.

Harry guesses it’s cause he’s fallen asleep.

 

The next morning, Harry wakes up to an empty bed and a note on his pillow.

_This was the last time, Harry. Your friend, Liam._

He balls it up and throws it in a corner.

This is the day he starts drinking in the morning.

 

When Harry was 24, Liam Payne made a life he’d lost control of seem less fucking shitty. He made Harry feel like he could own something, have something – something pure that was his, that no one else got to touch.

Liam took it away six months later.

Harry lost control.

Completely. 

 

Harry doesn’t really remember the last time he was totally sober.

It could have been the attempt Nick made three weeks ago to dry him out, and he’d managed to lock him in his flat for 14 hours. But Harry’d shimmied down the fire escape, jumped into a skip, and sliced a gash in his side. 

He didn’t go to the hospital. He went to the pub.

So the last time Harry was totally sober was almost certainly the night Liam had left him.

He and Liam haven’t spoken about it. Haven’t said anything to each other beyond the vague pleasantries and work talk that Liam initiated immediately, making it very clear what his boundaries were with Harry now.

Zayn made them even clearer three days after, when Harry had tried to tug Liam away from him and back to his room, and Zayn pulled Harry’s arm up behind his back, pressed his face into a wall, and told him he’d beat the shit out of him if he came near Liam again.

Harry didn’t try again after that, cause _fuck_ Liam. 

He didn’t have a magical fucking arsehole that whispered sweet nothings and the results of every FA cup match for the next fifty years. He was a fucking average, everyday guy, with a nice face, who gave good head. There were billions of people in the world and Harry could sleep with about forty percent of them. He could find another Liam with those odds, no problem.

Except that resolve lasted another one and a half weeks, after which Harry _did_ try again; cornered Liam in the green room at some awards show, tried to convince him to come back with Harry and release some of the adrenaline they’d worked up on stage. Liam just ducked under his arm and walked away.

Harry didn’t go back to the hotel. He went to a club. Then another and another, until it was three days later and he’d missed four interviews and a signing and his phone had twenty angry texts and thirty voicemail messages from his manager, that he ignored in favour of throwing up until he bled.

It wasn’t the last bender he went on that month. He went on more than one the next month, and the next – until he was getting worried looks instead of angry ones, and he could feel the pity party closing in. 

His refuge should have been Nick. Nick who’s always there to support him. To enable him. To get him drunk and laid. 

But that went down the toilet too, in a barrage of angry yelling about self-destruction and Harry being a pathetic, self-indulgent, selfish dick. He’d told Nick to fuck off cause he was done listening to his shit.

So he doesn’t talk to Nick anymore either. Nick’s a dickhead.

And so is Liam.

Except Liam’s not. 

Liam’s something else. Was something else. 

And Harry can’t quite grasp what it was, but he thinks if he drinks more he’ll figure it out.

 

Harry’s not surprised by how much time Liam and Zayn have been spending together since Harry stopped monopolising all of Liam’s attention. Since he stopped winning their unacknowledged game of ‘who does Liam like more?’

He’s not surprised to see them cuddling together on the sofa in interviews. Whispering in each other’s ear at parties. Sharing the same microphone onstage.

He’s extremely surprised when three months after Liam ends things, he walks backstage one night and sees Zayn talking to Liam and this other tall, blond Abercrombie and Fitch looking twat, who for some reason has his arm draped around Liam’s shoulder.

Zayn’s laughing at the guy in a way he never did when that was Harry; chatting almost manically for Zayn, smiling generously at the both of them, looking like a benevolent big brother sanctioning some kind of fucking arranged marriage.

Harry feels _dizzy_.

He watches them talking in a tight little group, lit by the freestanding lamp next to them so it looks like there’s a spotlight beaming golden rays down from heaven to, like… bless their perfect, beautiful lives. 

Harry’s confused. He doesn’t understand – this or _anything_. He doesn’t understand his _life_.

Tall, Blond and Perfect leans down during a pause in the conversation and brushes his lips against Liam’s, and Harry’s not surprised. Harry’s not upset. Harry’s not mad.

Harry fucking _snaps_.

 

The next few weeks are a blur.

The tour ends and they go home. 

Harry knows he’s in the papers. Knows there’s some talk of rehab. Knows his mum keeps calling him and leaving messages where she sobs gently.

But mostly he knows whiskey. And bars, and clubs, and girls. All kinds of girls – but not nice ones. Not the kind he used to date and laugh with and find fun. No, these girls make him forget. These girls will let Harry fuck them in the toilet stall of a club while a bathroom attendant listens, and leave after so he doesn’t have to see them again.

He knows long nights and short painful days, where he’s alternately hung-over or numb, skiving out of every work commitment with poor excuses that he’s sick. He knows throwing up in a dirty alley in Soho, next to guys dealing crack and hookers selling themselves while he gets chased by fucking flashbulbs. He knows lines of coke that hurt his nasal lining and fuck him up more than he likes the next day, but he does it again anyway cause it’s quicker than drinking. 

He knows Zayn looking at him with his judgy eyes. Niall and Louis looking so worried and helpless, like they’re desperate to help but have no idea what to do. 

Harry knows Liam and Chris. 

Chris, who it slips into his consciousness is a finance broker Liam met at the gym while they were finishing the final shows of their tour at Madison Square Garden. Chris who speaks with a smooth, cool New York accent and kisses Liam on the head and takes him on dates and laughs _all_ the fucking time. Laughs with Liam, laughs with Zayn, laughs with Liam _and_ Zayn until Harry doesn’t want to know _anymore_ , and goes back out to forget again.

The next few weeks are the worst of Harry’s life.

 

The club is heaving with sweaty, writhing bodies.

Harry has been at this same club every night for at least five days and it’s never been this busy, so he assumes it’s a Friday night.

He slides through the mass of people on the dance floor and tries not to catch himself in the mirror above the bar, because knows he looks wrecked and sloppy and homeless – doesn’t look like even the _worst_ version of himself anymore. Just looks like someone he doesn’t know. 

He orders a Jack and Coke and turns to face the crowd. He doesn’t flinch when a blonde girl in half a dress sidles up to him and smiles.

“Hi,” she pushes her chest out, and it’s not the most original chat up line in the world, but then he doesn’t need it lately.

“Harry,” he nods back at her, cause there’s no point disguising it. The whole world knows his business at the minute, so he has no illusions she doesn’t know who he is. He’s counting on it, in fact. It means she’ll know to get lost later.

“Nikki.”

His drink arrives and he offers it to her, turning back to motion for another.

It doesn’t take long after that. Never does; not with these girls on these nights. Half an hour later, he has her against a column that’s reasonably close to a corner. 

He’s snogging her sloppily, hand up under her skirt, mind starting to go blessedly blank, when he sees them out of the corner of his eye. Sees Zayn, Louis and Niall in a circle by the end of the bar, collecting drinks and laughing merrily. 

Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he just keeps doing what he's good at and ignores them. He kisses the girl in front of him deeper, slipping another finger inside her pussy and biting her neck when she tips her head back, moaning. He glances up again – and fuck it, they’re not alone. He watches Liam almost dancing over to them, bouncing around when he gets there and accepting the drink Louis hands him.

The thing inside Harry that’s broken gives a dying twitch. He grits his teeth and seethes.

Fuck Liam for being here where he’s come to forget. Fuck Liam for coming here and being happy. Fucking _fuck_ Liam for not even being worried about him, after he used Harry to get himself fucked and then tossed him over for Captain America.

Just fuck Liam.

He goes at the girl harder, tearing off her knickers and pulling her legs around his hips, chewing at her delicate neck while he uses two hands to unbuckle and unzip his pants. He pulls them down just enough to slip on the condom he had in his back pocket and fuck up into her, pounding her with jerky, uneven thrusts.

It’s okay, he guesses. After Liam, Harry realised he’d missed the feeling of a slick hot pussy around him after so long. He wishes it felt as nice as Liam’s arse. It never does.

But he keeps screwing her anyway, because Harry Styles is not someone who cries over what he can’t have. Especially when what he can’t have is such a fucking soul-eating bastard.

Harry’s eyes flick up again and it’s like he’s conjured something out of the ether. He sees Liam watching him, almost as if he can’t look away. He has that fucking hurt, betrayed look on his face, too – like he has any goddamn right. Their eyes lock and Harry knows he sees. Knows he can see everything Harry’s doing to this girl in front of him, regardless of whether or not he can see her face or Harry’s dick. And Harry starts to perversely enjoy himself all of a sudden.

It stops being a below average fuck in a club and becomes something more – something beautifully bittersweet and painful. Something like a weapon he can wield and shove some of the unbelievable hurt he’s feeling onto Liam while he stands ten metres away, beer dangling limply in his hands, watching Harry get his nuts off in someone that’s not him.

Harry wants Liam to see him enjoy it. Wants Liam to see him having a _fantastic_ time without him. Wants Liam to see that Harry doesn’t need him; doesn’t want him anymore. So he fucks her hard and long and obvious, never taking his eyes from Liam, but letting a smile curve the edges of his mouth now as he does it – feeling _something_ for the first time in weeks.

He’s getting close to coming from just the look on Liam’s face – disgusted, jaw clenched, undisguised naked anger. He thinks Liam will stand there until he comes – brave boy refusing to break eye contact before Harry – but the girl moans. Moans loud enough that it’s obvious from where Liam’s standing, and he drops his drink back on the bar and turns away, running for the door.

Zayn spins around and scans the room for what upset Liam, catching Harry with his dick in the biscuit tin, and he sneers and shakes his head at him before following Liam quickly outside.

Harry doesn’t even keep up the pretence – he’s pulling out and running after Liam, zipping his jeans up as he goes. He vaguely hears the girls angry, “Hey!” as he leaves, but he couldn’t give less of a shit.

Liam’s waiting on the pavement when he finally makes it outside, head tilted up to the sky and breathing deeply while Zayn hangs over the curb, trying to hail a cab. 

Zayn’s far enough forward that Harry manages to stumble towards Liam – realising he’s considerably wasted now he’s out in the fresh air of the London night – and pull him into the alcove next to the club without Zayn noticing. “Hey, hey, wait, wait, wait, come here,” he whispers, pressing Liam against the roller door with his body, trying to block him from Zayn’s sight for a minute.

Liam’s face is illuminated by the glow of the massage place next door, and he looks shocked and upset; too blindsided to react to Harry pressed against him. Harry stares intently at him for a few seconds, wondering if it’s the alcohol coursing through his veins or the pain in his chest that’s making him think Liam looks like an angel – looks like the best thing he’s ever seen in his _life_. 

He wants to take Liam home, lock them in his bedroom, curl up with him on clean white sheets, put his head on his chest and _sleep_. Sleep for two days and then wake up to lick his breakfast off Liam’s stomach, lose himself in his beautiful body, and fall back asleep again. 

Harry wants to never let him leave.

He doesn’t say any of that though. He never lets any of those thoughts go too far.

Instead he slides his hands under Liam’s shirt; pushes towards Liam as Liam pulls back, trying to tilt away from Harry as far as he can in the small space of the alcove.

“Liam, baby, I didn’t want you to see that,” Harry rumbles, his voice caressing Liam’s name after not having said it for so long. “I just needed to be with someone. C’mon, baby, I need _you_ tonight. Come home with me? Don’t you want to be with me? Don’t you want me to fuck you the way you like?” Harry moves closer and Liam’s backs up, ducking Harry’s mouth as best he can where he’s pressing it into his neck. “Please, Liam? Please?” he begs, drunk and pathetic.

“No, Harry,” Liam whimpers quietly, eyes closed against Harry’s stare. 

Harry keeps his face close to Liam’s, breathing bitter air onto his pouting lips and rubbing their noses together. He takes hold of Liam’s hands and links their fingers, holding them above their heads as Liam tries to turn away. “C’mon, Puppy, you know you want it – you know you want my dick. You know you want me to pump you full of my cum like before.”

Liam seems to come totally to his senses then, eyes flying open and glinting dangerously into Harry’s. “No, Harry, NO!” He pulls away properly this time, pushing Harry back and walking away from him.

“Fine, Liam, fuck you!” he calls after him, not putting a name to the tearing pain in his chest as he watches Liam’s retreating back.

Apparently his severe emotional fucked-up-ness is not enough of a punishment in Zayn’s eyes, because he turns around at the commotion, noticing Liam walking away upset and Harry chatting shit in front of a closed off-licence.

Harry sees Zayn coming towards him murderously, but he doesn’t have it in him to care anymore. Doesn’t have the emotional or physical capacity. He’s just… exhausted.

It’s why he just stands his ground as Zayn strides over.

The last thing Harry sees is Zayn’s fist flying towards his face.

It’s darkness after that.

 

The first thing Harry becomes aware of is his throbbing head. The second thing is his throbbing eye.

He pops the one that doesn’t feel welded shut open, slowly becoming aware that he’s back home in his own bed, and considering the security his house has, he can only assume one of the boys brought him back last night.

He hears the sounds of someone clearly not concerned about his hangover – clanging pans and slamming cupboard doors from the kitchen downstairs. 

Definitely one of the boys then.

He does a mental check of how he feels; insides raw, face blazing with pain, head throbbing from dehydration, and he kind of feels like sicking up an organ. He also has a fuzzy thought on his periphery that he was emotionally gut-punched last night, and everything in him is screaming for him to drink it into black and numb again.

He gets up, spending a few minutes sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to pass, before he stumbles into the bathroom for a piss. 

He rinses and spits with cold water, scrubbing a wet hand over his face and poking gingerly at his swollen, purpling eye in the mirror above the sink. There used to be a couple of rolled joints in the ashtray by the window that have presumably been flushed, but he’s too fuzzy-headed to care.

He pulls himself out of his alcohol and sweat soaked clothes, throwing on a clean pair of boxers and a vest. He should probably get fully dressed to meet whoever’s waiting for him downstairs, but his head hurts and his face hurts and in the back of his mind he’s aware that his heart hurts.

Harry doesn’t remember all of last night, but he remembers the look on Liam’s face. Remembers that he caused it. And he’s not proud of himself. But then he never is anymore.

He lumbers down the stairs with slumped shoulders and heavy feet, following the smell of bacon and eggs to the kitchen. It makes him want to run back upstairs and throw up, but he swallows a few times to fight it back.

Zayn’s next to the stovetop when he enters, wearing one of Harry’s ratty old band shirts and looking sleepy, poking around a frying pan with a spatula.

He’s not surprised that it’s Zayn, he must have thrown him into the taxi once Harry passed out. Or when Zayn knocked him out – whichever version’s the more accurate. He _is_ surprised that Zayn didn’t just leave him to rot on the side of the road, considering his undisguised hatred for Harry over the last year.

Zayn ignores Harry’s presence, so he does the same, walking over to the fridge and taking out a half-empty carton of milk, downing it in one thirsty go in front of the open door. His mouth still feels like he’s eaten a mouldy orange. He also notices that the fridge is stocked with fresh shopping that Zayn obviously bought – unless Harry’s been blacking out and going on trips to M&S, which he doubts. 

He throws the empty carton in the bin and watches Zayn for a bit: flipping eggs till they’re perfectly over-easy and sliding them, greasy and hot, onto a plate. Zayn doesn’t acknowledge him, just continues to crisp up bacon and butter bread, and Harry’s almost certain this is some kind of torture where Zayn makes Harry throw up till he’s a broken shell of a man, lying shivering on his kitchen tile.

Zayn turns to put the kettle on to boil and tosses teabags into the pot, still ignoring Harry like this isn’t his own bloody house. 

Harry rolls his eyes and pushes off the window sill. “Fuck this shit,” he snarls, stalking to the door.

“Harry, stop sulking and sit down at the fucking table so we can eat,” Zayn says, calm as you like, and his holier-than-thou bullshit fires Harry up like always.

Harry pivots back around to glare at him some more, his head throbbing painfully with it. “I’m not sulking!”

Zayn huffs out a derisive laugh. “Yeah, you know when someone’s not sulking? When they yell and storm off.”

Zayn’s a snarky twat, and Harry mutters, “Fuck you,” in his general direction, before stroppily going to sit at the kitchen table, because if they’re finally going to have it out, he's not going to be the one to back down.

Zayn brings breakfast over to Harry and he glowers at it, refusing to eat, until Zayn goes to take it away and Harry snatches it back just to be contrary. Zayn snorts at him and they both sit and eat in silence, Harry trying to choke down what he can, feeling considerably better once he’s got two cups of sugary tea in him. He watches Zayn eat like a horse, feeling sick as he shovels food in his gob, swallowing it down with massive amounts of orange juice. 

Zayn eventually finishes, mopping up the dregs of eggs yolk and bacon grease with the thick buttered bread and Harry looks away in disgust. “So thanks for the shiner, it’ll definitely make the tabloids pay _less_ attention to me. Especially if someone saw it was you who did it,” he complains, pushing his plate away.

“Don’t be a pussy. You deserved it.”

He knows he did, but he sneers at Zayn anyway. “Right, so is this where you tell me to leave Liam alone? Or is it where you tell me I’m out of the band, and the boys sent you as the message boy in case I kick off?”

“No, this is where I find out what the fuck’s been steadily crawling up your arse for the last two years, so I can smack it out of you. Then you’re going to clean yourself up and get your shit together, cause we’re all sick of it.” 

“Fuck you, Zayn, there’s nothing wrong with – ”

“Stop!” he cuts in, clearly irritated with him. “I don’t want to hear your denial bullshit. We fix this today, whether you like it or not. This is the last time you wander around thinking it’s your God-given right to treat the people who love you like fucking rubbish.”

Harry snarls, crossing his arms defensively. “What are you going to do? Tie me up and drag me to the Priory for a month so I can sit in a drum circle with Pete Doherty and cry?” 

“Fuck you, we talk. That’s how we’ve always solved things in this band – we talk to each other. We take care of each other. Even when one of us has acted as big of a _cunt_ as you have!” Zayn throws his fork clattering onto his plate in disgust.

“Great, that sounds like fun,” Harry snarks, not liking where this is going. He’s starting to feel trapped – starting to realise Zayn’s about to say some things he’s not ready to hear and he has no immediate way of escaping. 

Harry wonders if he can actually take Zayn in a punch up if it comes to it. He really doubts it.

“It won’t be, but we’re going to do it anyway, because I care about you too much to let you end up sad and pathetic and alone, and probably dead in three years with a needle sticking out your arm.”

“You care about me? After the way you’ve been acting around me the past year!” Harry ducks his head to laugh bitterly into the dregs at the bottom of his cup.

“I’ve been acting that way _because_ I care about you, dickhead! Can you really not see how you’ve been hurting yourself? And then when you had the unmitigated bollocks to involve Liam in your fucking shame spiral, well…” Zayn shakes his head in disbelief, practically vibrating with indignant rage.

“Oh, here we go! This is what it’s about at the end of the day, right? Your precious, delicate Liam and all the terrible things he went through because of me. Never mind that he loved it! Never mind that he begged for it! Never mind that he choked on my cock and then asked for more – ”

The chair screeches as Zayn leaps up and grabs Harry by the throat. “I swear to _Christ_ , keep it up and I’ll break your jaw and shove your head so far up your arse, you fucker.”

There’s a long moment of palpable tension in the room: Zayn’s hands curled threateningly around Harry’s neck as he looms over him, both glaring into each other’s eyes and panting – unwilling to back down.

Zayn breaks first, shoving Harry back down into the chair – not gently, mind you – and sitting down heavily.

Harry hunches forwards, coughing and glowering back at him, but Zayn just looks at him callously.

“Whatever this has to do with Liam, we’ll get to later. We’re going to talk about _you_ first,” he says, voice tight and resolute.

Harry rubs his throat and stares out the window at the sunny garden. “I’ve had enough of people talking about me for one lifetime.”

“Oh, stop being so fucking self-pitying, it doesn’t look good on you. And what? You think you’re the only one of us that’s had shit written about him, said about him, been hunted like a fucking dog in the street? If you stopped being so involved in your own crap, you’d notice there were four other lads going through the exact same thing,” Zayn tells him sharply, and Harry loses his _mind._

“Fuck you, none of you have it as bad as me! Not one of you have the awful things said about you that I do all the time. You’re not forced to act like a totally different person by the people that are _supposed_ to have your best interests in mind –”

“Bull _Shit_ , Harry, wake up! That stuff happens to all of us at one time or another. The difference is _you_ let it start affecting you. _You_ took it personally. _You_ stopped talking to us about it and had a massive three year _sulk_ , when you decided the way you felt was everyone’s fault but your own!” Zayn bangs a hand on the table making everything shake and rattle. “And _you_ started to take that shit out on the people around you. You may think you have all these complex, terrible problems Harry, but the fact is you’re nothing but a fucking bully,” Zayn spits furiously. “You take your problems out on other people to make yourself feel better, Harry. You’re a _bully_!”

Harry wants to yell _something_ at Zayn. Toss a rebuttal at his face, an insult, a punch, _anything_. 

But he’s right. 

And Harry has to just sit here and let that (horrible, painful, _true_ , thing) sink in.

“And don’t you dare fucking tell me I don’t know how you feel ever again,” Zayn says finally, stacking up the dishes, clearly done with this conversation.

Harry just nods. There really is nothing he can say to that.

 

Zayn seems bent on sticking around, so Harry begrudgingly gets up and helps him stack the dishwasher in tense silence. He hangs back when they’re done, watching Zayn make fresh cups of tea, then follows dutifully when he leads them out to the garden.

They sit for a while on the loungers he has set up on the grass, Harry replaying Zayn’s harsh words over and over in his head. He listens to the sounds of the flies and bees buzzing around, his retired next door neighbour working on his garden, the steady rumble in the distance of midday traffic.

Harry finishes his tea, watching as Zayn pulls out a pack of cigs and taps one out into his palm.

“Can I bum one of those?” he asks, desperate for something to do with his hands. 

Zayn doesn’t flinch, just grunts, “Yeah,” and hands him two, tossing the lighter at him. 

Harry fumbles it, hand-eye coordination for shit, and lights up, sucking and exhaling, watching the smoke spiral and twist upwards in the air. 

Zayn doesn’t say anything, letting Harry steep in his own thoughts. The confrontation had been unpleasant, but now it’s over Harry can’t deny it’s a relief. Like them finally having it out has cleared the air, leaving room for other things. 

He feels hopeful. Warming from the inside, like drinking hot soup on a freezing day.

He lies back and tries to enjoy the silence, actually managing to nap for a while. Zayn dozes on and off himself, dicking around with his phone in between, just sitting quietly, not pressuring Harry to talk about what he’s feeling.

Around lunchtime, Zayn gets up and goes to the kitchen, coming back a half hour later with sandwiches, homemade smoothies and two Panadine for Harry’s head.

“Well aren’t you just the perfect little woman?” Harry teases, then remembers he's supposed to be angry and indignant and hard-done-by.

Zayn just throws a plate at him and tells him to eat.

They finish off the sandwiches companionably, and Zayn reaches under a tea cosy once Harry’s cleaned his plate, throwing a Kit-Kat at his chest.

“Were you hiding this under there until I’d eaten my lunch? Like my mum would do?” Harry asks in disbelief.

Zayn shoots him a look and picks up his own. “You need to start eating properly, Harry, you look really rough. And not the cute kind that Liam likes – the puffy, fucked-up, Britney Spears kind.”

“Liam thinks I look cute?” Harry asks, perking up at that information.

Zayn just raises an eyebrow and slides his sunglasses back down. 

“Oh, come on, one of us had to bring him up eventually,” Harry rolls his eyes, putting a stick of Kit-Kat in his mouth and sucking the chocolate off.

“Liam thinks you’re fucking dreamy. But he’s as fucked up as you are, so don’t let it go to your head,” Zayn grumbles, looking at the fence.

Harry snorts, his mood dimming. “Yeah? If he thinks I’m so great, why’d he leave?”

There’s silence. Harry listens to the birds chirping, finishes his Kit Kat, and lies back down before he gets an answer.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to get involved in this. I said it wasn’t my place,” Zayn mutters to himself.

“Is that why you’ve been trying to smack the shit out of me lately?” Harry asks dubiously.

“I _meant_ , I told myself I wouldn’t interfere with you and Liam. I wouldn’t tell you what Liam’s been saying to me, or what I – an impartial and non-total fuckwit observer – managed to figure out in five fucking minutes.”

Harry doesn’t want to let on how curious he is about that, but he finds himself prodding for information. “Sounds like you’re going to anyway.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Zayn sighs.

“Mmm.” Harry patiently waits for Zayn to spill his guts, sucking the last of the smoothie noisily through a straw.

“Not for your benefit, y’know? I’m only doing it cause I want Liam to be happy. And the way you’ve been bollocksing everything up while he keeps quiet and lets you… you know it’ll never get sorted if I don’t do anything,” Zayn sighs, a martyr to his own observational skills.

“Yeah, you’re a hero. Look, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but if you want Liam to be happy, why not leave well enough alone and let him marry He-Man?” Harry asks, bitter and not bothering to hide it.

“You mean Chris?” Zayn sounds surprised. “Come on, Harry, he’s a nice guy, but he’s not what Liam really wants. You think he understands what Liam needs; what weird, kinky shit gets him off? Think he can possibly understand the life we lead and how we get through it? No, Chris is a distraction. And he’s a good one, he makes Liam smile, but a version of you is what Liam wants. One that’s not a complete twat.”

“Really?” Harry’s smirking uncontrollably, bursts of happiness prickling his skin like he’s coming to life.

Zayn shakes his head, no doubt rolling his eyes. “Yes, Harry,” he says, deadpan.

Harry pushes himself up so he's sitting, eager for some answers. “So, hang on, if Liam likes me, why did he leave? And what do you mean, Liam _needs_ weird kinky shit?”

“Really, Harry? I know you’ve been wrapped up in your own boring, pointless shit, but don’t tell me you’re selfish enough to not have any clue what’s going down with you and Liam.”

Harry would like to say yes, he knows exactly what happened there. Unfortunately, he’s only able to give Zayn a shrugged shoulder and a sheepish look.

“Fuck me, give me something to work with here!” Zayn’s looking up at the sky and Harry doesn’t think the comment is directed at him. “Harry, why were you shagging Liam? And please, I’m begging you, don’t go into details,” Zayn cringes.

Honestly, Harry had never really thought about it too much. Just took what was on offer as his due. “I dunno. Stress relief, I guess. A distraction. At first it was like a really weird favour Liam was doing for me.” 

“Okay, first of all – _liar_. If that were true, you wouldn’t have spent the last few months having the world’s biggest tantrum. And second of all, I don’t mean why did you guys start getting off together, I mean, what was it about Liam that was making it so special? So good? Something you stopped having sex with other people for? And don’t tell me you didn’t, cause I know you did. I saw you turn down two of those High School Musical birds backstage at the VMAs,” Zayn points at him accusingly.

Harry thinks about it. _Really_ thinks about it for the first time, head clear and fucking _sober_ for the first time in a long time. 

“I suppose at first it was nice to feel like someone was offering me something and not wanting anything in return for once. I enjoyed the way Liam would drop everything to be with me, like I came first.” He smiles when he thinks about how easy it used to be to get Liam to spend time with him – how simple he made it for Harry to relax and be himself. “I liked that I could trust him; that it wouldn’t end up all over the rags the second I came. I guess it made me feel like I had control of something – just one thing in my life.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

Harry takes a swig of juice and spits it over Zayn’s bare chest, grinning and ducking when he reaches an arm out to slap him.

“I was going to offer you some sage advice, but I don’t know if you deserve it after that crap,” Zayn taunts, shrugging his shoulders like it’s his loss.

“Tell me or I’ll do it again,” Harry threatens, glass to his lips. Zayn darts an arm out and wrestles it from his hands until there’s juice soaking into the grass and Harry’s boxers. He looks down helplessly and Zayn takes pity on his sticky self. 

“Look, Liam needed those things with you as much as you needed them with him – only Liam’s the opposite. He needs to lose control for a while. Take his hands off everyone’s reins and just let himself switch the fuck off.”

“How’d you mean?” Harry asks, confused, peeling his wet shirt away from his abdomen disgustedly.

Zayn sighs. “Look you’ve been around the block, Haz. You’ve heard of domination and submission. Probably even tried the milder stuff now and then.”

“Yeah. One person likes being hurt and the other likes hurting them?” Harry gives up and rips his shirt over his head, throwing it on the ground next to him.

“That’s an oversimplified explanation that doesn’t communicate the emotional needs of the people involved at all,” Zayn says like he’s reciting something he read in a textbook. 

Harry makes a face. “Yeah, alright, how the fuck do you know so much about it, Ann Summers?”

“I went and fucking researched it, you bell-end!” Zayn yells. “After all the times Liam came back to the room crying about all the stuff you did, and how he liked it and didn’t know why. After Liam has spent our _entire friendship_ telling me he doesn’t enjoy sex that much and thought there was something _wrong_ with him, until you show up and _whoops_! Suddenly he’s having orgasms that actually scare him cause he had no idea they could feel like that.”

“Liam doesn’t like sex?” Harry scoffs. “Look, I know you don’t want details, but _trust me_ , Liam – ”

“— yes! Thank you,” Zayn cuts him off, hand making violent cutting motions. “I know enough already, I don’t need to hear more. And well done for picking up on the important part of what I just said, retard,” he glares at Harry like he’s an unbelievable tosser. “I learned about all this for Liam’s sake, Harry, okay? Cause you were too fucking selfish and lazy to recognise what he was going through and do it yourself.” 

Harry feels confused and totally out of his depth again. He's also aware he’s being told off, although he’s not sure why. 

“Do you know _what_ I learned, Harry?” Zayn’s prodding him, looking for some kind of epiphany, he can tell.

“What?” He’s not sure he’s going to like the answer. 

“That being dominated isn’t about having someone treat you like shit. It’s about giving up control to someone you care about and trusting them to take care of you and give you pleasure. Which isn’t even _close_ to what you were doing, Harry – _that’s_ why Liam left you. At least until you could sort through your own shit and be that for him. Could be a mentally stable, thoughtful partner.”

He hadn’t been that. Hadn’t even _thought_ about it being his job to take care of Liam when he was in control, though it seems obvious now Zayn’s said it. Just another way he’d been failing someone he cared about, he supposes.

“And as for you, think _really_ hard about why you felt better after being with Liam. Think of all the things you told me today about this oppressive, shitty life and how out of control it makes you feel. And how it suddenly felt better after Liam let you take _his_ control. Think about that and tell me this isn’t something you should be looking into about yourself as well,” Zayn tells him, like an exasperated headmaster dressing down a delinquent pupil.

That realisation hits Harry with stunning clarity. It makes perfect sense to him. Explains everything about why he’d been so eager to be with Liam to begin with. 

Although, it maybe doesn’t go a long way to explaining his behaviour after Liam broke it off. 

“The sex may be terrible with Chris because he can’t give Liam what he wants – but neither can you right now, Harry. And until you figure out what being a good partner for Liam would mean, you have _no_ right being with him.” Zayn’s panting when he’s finished, but he looks relieved. Like he’s gotten something off his chest he’s been holding onto for a long time.

Harry takes his time letting all that sink in. 

Zayn gets up and leaves him, telling him he’s going back into the house to make some calls. Harry lies on his back for a long while, staring into the bright midday sky, familiar London air washing over his dehydrated, tired skin.

He thinks about his time with Liam. About the beginning when it felt like a piece of him got put back every time they were together. He thinks about how he’d stopped being so awful, just to stop the look on Liam’s face when he was.

He thinks about when he started to feel something else; something sweet inside his chest that he pushed down and railed against, but kept coming back every time Liam was in the room with him, smiling lovely and light and uncomplicated and pure.

He thinks about those last times they had sex and it no longer just felt like pieces coming back, but like Liam was welding them in; making them part of Harry again, making him _whole_ again. How he left Liam after feeling lighter, less concerned with irrelevant bullshit – whole world reduced to _Liam_ and when he could have him again. 

He gets it then.

It feels like a dam bursting in Harry’s heart: all the things he kept hidden, stopped himself wanting, stopped himself _feeling_ for so many years, flooding out in one big rush of _LiamLiamLiam_ , and Harry knows clearer than anything else that he loves him. 

It’s a relief.

It’s like a weight’s been lifted now he’s admitted it. Like he can finally see clearly what happened with them, where he went wrong – but most importantly what he needs to do to get Liam back.

There’s some twitching remnant of life inside Harry telling him he has the ability to man up and be the person Liam needs. The person he trusts. He can get himself sober and healthy and emotionally stable. He can show Liam what he means to Harry – how he’s fucking _everything_. He can do that if it gets him Liam, he knows he can.

He just needs to prove it.

 

Harry strides into the kitchen purposefully, standing in front of Zayn upending his liquor bottles in the sink.

“You sorted yourself out?” Zayn asks.

“Think so. Might need some help.”

Zayn’s lips curve upwards. “No problem.”

 

The next week is tough, Harry won’t lie. There are times when he feels like he wants to crawl out of skin. Feels like he’d sell his soul for a drink. Feels like if another person comes into his personal space, he’ll flip out and maul them.

It’s Zayn that helps him through. Zayn that’s unwavering, regardless of the day, night or location.

It’s Zayn that distracts him when he sees Harry’s knee bouncing uncontrollably, whispers filthy jokes into his ear and pulls his hair. It’s Zayn that sits next to him in interviews and grabs his shoulders and rubs when Harry feels like snapping – feels like saying something they’ll all have to pay for later. It’s Zayn that makes him eat properly – breakfast, lunch and dinner – until Harry’s feeling something like normal again. Until he has a routine again.

It’s also Zayn that convinces him one night that it’s time he apologises to the boys. Sits them down and talks to them about what’s going on with him, so they can clear the air and stop feeling fragmented and awkward. Apparently, the atmosphere in their band right now is like the Spice Girls after Geri left.

The next day they have an hour long gap between a morning-TV interview and a meeting with the record execs, and Harry manages to convince them to stay in the makeshift living room set after everyone else leaves.

Niall and Zayn are still sitting next to each other on the couch, staring Harry down as he stands in front of them, while Louis is sitting on the back of an armchair, dirty trainers on the cushion. Zayn’s trying to shoot encouraging looks from under his ridiculous eyelashes, but all Harry can focus on is Liam off to the side, propped up against the wall, picking at stray threads on his trousers.

Harry doesn’t even know how to start this. He flips his hair back and forth in position for something to do with his hands, perversely enjoying the awkward silence.

Eventually, Niall starts to get restless and looks like he wants to be doing anything else, so Harry just opens his gob and hopes for the best before he loses his audience.

“So, I’ve been a twat.” There’s no response to that, which he takes as agreement. “I’ve been the biggest twat… probably in all of England, for the last couple of years, and I’m – I’m sorry.”

Louis nods his head and Harry turns to him, humble as he dares. “I’m sorry for fucking this great thing we had up. But mostly I’m sorry for shutting you all out and not being a good friend. Not even a passable friend. Especially when you’ve all been really good ones to me.”

“Are you serious, mate?” Louis asks sceptically, shooting a look to Niall. “Because we were happy to look the other way while you were working through your shit, but you should know it’s still been crap. It’s been really hard to see you, like, fucking self-destructing, or whatever. And it’s been even harder being on the receiving end of your bullshit.” 

Louis looks mildly disgusted and Harry actually starts to feel ashamed of himself. Really ashamed. Like that brief gap he used to have between being blind drunk and agonizingly hung-over, and it was like he’d float up out of his body for a second and look down on himself – a tragic, used-up cliché, lying wrecked and pathetic on a random filthy floor.

“Yeah, I get that now, Louis, I do. And I’m trying to be… better,” Harry struggles for a way to convince him almost as hard as he sometimes has to struggle to convince himself. “Look, I’m not saying I’ll always get it right, and – and I’m not saying I’ll _ever_ be the person I once was. But I’m going to start trying again. _Really_ trying to be a better friend. Person. Whatever.”

“I hope so. Because as much as I love you, if you start treating these other lads like you did before, I’m done with you. I swear to fuck, Harry, I’ll kick you onto the street myself,” Louis says, dead serious.

Harry nods, Louis eyes burning intensely into his. “That’s fair. Totally fair. I’d say the exact same thing in your position.” 

“I know you would. That’s why you get a second chance.” Louis sighs out and steps down the chair seat and onto the floor, coming over and gathering him up in a tight hug. It immediately comes flooding back to Harry how _nice_ this felt – being part of a group of friends who loved each other this much.

He’d well-up if Zayn wouldn’t laugh and throw things.

Louis pulls his head back and they grin at each other, slightly embarrassed. Harry hears revolting wet noises and turns around to see Niall's off too, sniffling into a sleeve.

What a fucking scene.

He puts his arm out for Niall to jump into the hug, both of them cuddling into his sides, making him feel like the meat in an all too sentimental sandwich. He wants to roll his eyes but he sees Zayn over the top of Niall’s head, looking stupidly proud.

He doesn’t _need_ Zayn’s approval. But it’s nice to have it anyway.

Niall starts snotting on his shirt and Harry pats his head, trying not to undo his good work by shoving him off. “There, there, little Irishman, Daddy’s home now,” he croons, making Louis laugh and Niall punch his ribs.

“You’re a dick,” he complains.

“Still the nicest he’s been in years, Niall, pick your battles, mate.” Louis releases Harry and fixes his hair.

Harry notices movement from across the room, and sees the door swinging shut and an empty space where Liam was.

He always knew that apology was going to be the tough one. The one he needed to prepare for.

But still, the other three are now chatting away and clinging to him like nothing happened. Like their generosity and affection for him is enough to give him a chance to make things up.

It’s not perfect yet. But better.

 

Harry has his ups and downs after that.

The boys start circling around him when he needs it. They talk over his moods, throw an arm around him during the bullshit, include him in their lives when before he’d been too poisonous to be let in. 

He starts to laugh again. It feels easy and right.

The shakes eventually stop. His eye heals. After about a month he doesn’t crave forgetting the way he did before. Doesn’t want to pretend the day never happened and black-out. He finds there are things he _wants_ to remember.

He and Zayn spend a lot of time together. Harry finds him to be a calming presence: never faltering, always pushing him forward, pushing him past moments he would have dwelled on and let eat into him. Zayn doesn’t try and make Harry talk when he’s not ready, listens when he is. He picks up the phone every time and spends weekends with him in the garden – eating, napping, talking about everything and nothing.

One Friday, Harry notices Liam leaving their manager’s offices with an overnight bag and hugging the boys goodbye. He prods Zayn, who tells him quietly that Liam’s flying to New York to see Chris for the weekend. 

Harry doesn’t know how to respond. His gut reaction is to go and get completely shit-faced, but he finds the strength to resist. So he clings to Zayn, spending the weekend letting him smother him with distractions.

They spend Friday night with Perrie, watching movies from when they were kids. They marathon Pixar films while stuffing their faces with take-away fish and chips, and Harry manages not to think about Liam too much. He just swallows into the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach all night, and pretends it’s anxiety that Nemo won’t get home.

Saturday doesn’t go as well. He’s supposed to be shopping for furniture with the remaining boys at Liberty, but he’s bad tempered and snappy with everyone all day, until he just gives up and catches a taxi home. 

He stomps around the house for an hour, forming vicious ideas about ways he can punish Liam; like getting wasted, picking up a guy, and breaking into Liam’s flat to fuck the shit out of him on his bed. It’s seeming like a better and better plan until Zayn uses his spare key to come in and wrestle Harry back out the house, forcing him into his car and driving him out of town for the night. 

They eat dinner, quiet and low key, at a place in Kent until Harry calms down, and then go for a walk in a nearby park.

“This is a really nice date, Zayn. You’re definitely getting laid tonight,” Harry says, eating pistachio frozen yoghurt on a bench, and watching people walk their dogs in the fading light.

Zayn punches his upper arm. “Shut your gob, Haz. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” 

Harry smiles, cause if that were true Zayn wouldn’t be here. “I was actually talking about Perrie, but good to know where your head’s at.”

Zayn hits him again, and Harry laughs and rolls of the bench to hide behind a tree.

He sleeps over in Zayn and Perrie’s guest room, and in the morning Zayn takes him home and stays.

They spend the morning doing chores; Harry cleaning the house half-arsed after Zayn’s judgy glare at the mess. He does two loads of washing and puts on clean sheets, before he gives up cause it’s boring. He’ll just rehire his housekeeper tomorrow. Zayn cleans the kitchen, actually managing to finish the job, so by the time Harry’s whining and bitching that he can’t find his other pillowcase, the room is shiny clean and Zayn’s started making tacos.

After lunch they go outside, sitting back in the loungers and enjoying the sunny day.

They both nap for a bit, Harry getting up before Zayn, because he’s restless and irritated. No matter how much he wants to, he can’t stop thinking about what Liam’s doing right now – what _Chris_ is doing to Liam – and it’s turning his stomach, making him feel sick. Zayn seems to realise this because he sits up when he notices Harry’s awake, and starts chatting to him about football and music and that weird janitor at the studio that always touches Niall’s hair. 

A little while later, Zayn notices some of the plants in Harry’s few flower beds seem to be wilting. Harry admits he’s done nothing to the garden since he let the gardener go before the tour, just letting the rain take care of the watering duties. Zayn grabs his keys and goes out, yelling back at Harry to behave himself while he’s gone. 

He comes back with mulch and spades, and they stand for a while holding the equipment and staring down at the flowers helplessly. Eventually, Harry thinks to Google them, finding out they’re pansies and bluebells and getting some idea of how to take care of them; and they spend the rest of the day digging up the flowers and then replanting them in moist, rich soil, until their hands are numb and dirty.

Harry’s surprised to find it’s really relaxing. After they’re finished he feels a sense of accomplishment he hasn’t felt in a long time and he starts to chat a mile-a-minute to Zayn about all the other things they could do in the garden once he’s figured out how. Harry almost forgets about feeling so fucking rubbish, and manages to sleep well that night.

Liam comes back from his trip and Harry avoids him. He knows he’s being a pussy, but he doesn’t want to see the look on Liam’s face. Doesn’t want to see him relaxed and happy from a weekend of non-stop shagging, no matter how sub-par it was. He doesn’t want to see someone else’s marks on his neck, or worst of all, find out they’re now stupidly in love and picking out rings. He knows it’s childish, but he can’t handle it right now.

So he spends the week with his head down, avoiding eye contact and distracting himself by dicking around with the boys. They at least make him laugh. He spends his nights at home, watering his plants and talking rubbish to them, telling them all about Liam and their tragic, unrequited love story.

The plants are very good listeners.

It takes a week, but the flowers begin to look healthy again, and Zayn and Harry crow over them, slapping each other on the back and taking photos on their phones so they can show anyone who’ll listen. 

The next week they dig new flower beds, challenging themselves with roses this time. They manage it, despite Harry pricking himself _five_ fucking times and Zayn complaining that roses are super gay. 

After that, it’s every weekend, Harry and Zayn on their knees in the garden, pottering around like two old men on an allotment. It’s the most rewarding thing Harry thinks he’s done.

“Do you tell Liam about how I’m getting on?” Harry asks one day over planting five conifers, unable to hold his curiosity in anymore.

“I tell Liam about your business as much as I tell you about his,” Zayn replies.

Harry prods at the ground with a shovel. “You can, you know? I don’t mind.” 

Zayn stops what he’s doing, elbow deep in soil, and looks at him. “Harry, if you want Liam to be proud of you, then show him what you’ve achieved yourself.”

“I don’t know if he’d even care anymore,” Harry mumbles, sullen and dejected.

“What happened to fighting for the things you wanted, Harry?” 

“Yeah, I’m _getting_ to it.”

He’s fully committed to Liam. He just needs some more time to get his head straight.

 

Within another month, the back of Harry’s house looks like a proper English country garden; colourful, thriving, beautiful. 

He spends the spare moments he has working on it; soaking it with a watering can, spraying for greenfly, popping his head over the fence to ask Mr Polkiovitz why his sunflowers are so much taller than Harry’s. He spends more time out here than in the house.

His work life is flourishing, too. Harry is easier with everyone, even the people that fuck him over. He just walks away before it escalates into a mood, then releases the tension with the boys in snide little remarks they share, laughing in each other’s ears at these awful people, getting Niall to do his scarily spot on impressions of their handlers until Harry’s snorting juice out his nose. 

He feels like all the hurt and betrayal he felt before has been divided into four and shared out amongst them, and he could _cry_ he feels so unburdened.

There is one thing that’s not ideal though, and it doesn’t seem to be improving. Liam’s ignoring him. Only now it’s not like when he first broke up with Harry and he was being purposefully polite and professional, only speaking in calculated, stilted sentences – this is different. It’s passive-aggressive and pissy, and Liam stares him down sometimes all thin-lips and head-shakes, like he just can’t believe him. Like he’s _mad_.

Harry can’t blame him really. He knows he deserves Liam’s cold shoulder and refusal to forgive him. But he’d like to at least soften Liam up before he begins laying the groundwork to win him back. Which, make no mistake, is his intention. 

He’s been making strides in his life these past months, but he’s also been making strides with understanding Liam. Understanding what they had.

At first he just did an internet search, looking for information on S&M, and finding some truly disturbing shit before he refined his searches, managing to get some basic, useful things to kick off with.

He also found some more than interesting porn that he then Googled to fuck, spending four straight nights wanking off to it until he stripped his cock raw with his hand and his throat raw with Liam’s name. Eventually he cut himself off before he wound up withered and starved, like one of those rats that only presses the orgasm button.

Despite the ridiculous amounts of porn he can view and picture how he and Liam will look doing it, Harry knows he needs something more legitimate if he’s going to do this properly. He orders some books from Amazon, overnighting them to himself, and sits down with them in the garden on his day off: bookmarking pages with post-its, highlighting passages, and writing notes. He hasn’t studied this hard for something since his GCSE’s. 

He learns pretty quickly to skip over the more hardcore aspects of it. He knows he doesn’t want to physically hurt Liam – doesn’t want to cut him or stick needles in him or any of that shit. Wouldn’t want to do anything to even temporarily scar Liam’s miles of perfect, tanned skin, unless it’s bruises that he sucks and presses in with his mouth and fingers.

Harry finds the knowledge he's gathering fascinating, not only as an insight into Liam, but into himself as well. He learns, after reading two of the books cover to cover, that taking control of a sub can make you feel in control of your own life, which is _exactly_ what Harry had felt with Liam. He also discovers that it’s his job as the dom to take care of Liam. To be the person Liam can trust absolutely. The one that knows him better than Liam knows himself. Who can give him what he loves without Liam having to say a word, never crossing his boundaries. 

He doubts Liam ever felt that with him in the entire six months they were together.

Most of the books say that both partners need to have a conversation about what they do and don’t like, about what their boundaries are, and about their safe-words. But Harry is working solo here, and he can only do so much without talking to Liam.

The biggest revelation is that he’s seriously into this. The thought of Liam and himself doing this within the confines of a relationship gets him hard as a fucking rock, and he has to drop what he’s doing more than a few times to either walk it off round the garden, or go back into the house to rub one out, quick and dirty. Imagining Liam in these scenarios: submissive, begging, willingly following orders and having bone-shaking orgasms _because_ of it, makes Harry feel like he’s coming out of his fucking skin.

Harry gathers the books and empty glasses up at dusk when the light gets too dim to read anymore, and goes back inside. Everything he read today is new and exciting, but really Harry would be happy with Liam any way he could get him. He wants to lay Liam down on a blanket in the garden and make love to him slowly just as much as he wants to put him over his knee and spank him until he spunks on the floor. 

But really, he doesn’t even know if Liam’s as into this as he is. He only has what Zayn’s told him.

The reality is he needs to sit down and talk to Liam.

Which, considering Liam’s opinion of him right now, is tricky.

 

A few days later, Harry finally has an opportunity to get Liam alone.

They’ve been in and out of songwriters’ meetings all day, choosing material for the new album, Liam sitting as far away from him at the table as he possibly can, only engaging with the others when they need his vote. Harry’s never seen Liam act this petulant or isolate himself from the group so much, and he knows he has to speak to him soon, at the very least so he can stop his face looking like a sad owl.

As the third meeting of the day goes on, Niall starts whining loudly that he’s starving, so Louis and Liam decide to take him to lunch to shut him up.

Harry declines going out since there are photographers all over the front and back steps of the building, and he really doesn’t want to push his good mood. Zayn decides to hang back with him, offering to go and grab them something from the shop downstairs. 

Harry doesn’t miss the look on Liam’s face at that.

During lunch, (terrible pasta, sitting feet up at the conference table,) Harry mentions it to Zayn, who tells him to, “Shut the fuck up, I’m not getting involved in this. Sort it yourself.” So Harry decides to.

Liam returns from lunch and goes straight into the break room, pulling out his phone and sitting on the sofa, obviously planning on ignoring everyone until they go back in. He looks like a sulky teenager stropping to his room. 

Harry nods at Zayn and slips away from the others to follow him, clicking the door shut as he enters. Liam’s head darts up at the noise, looking trapped when he sees Harry there.

Harry keeps his back pressed against the door so as not to freak Liam out. “Can we talk?” 

“Nothing to talk about,” Liam mumbles, arsey as fuck.

“Well I have something to talk to you about,” Harry tries for light and breezy, like there isn’t enough tension in the room to power WC1.

“Maybe you should talk to Zayn, since you and he are so fucking cosy lately,” Liam pouts.

Harry takes a second to absorb that, rapid-fire revelations occurring to him about Liam’s behaviour the past few weeks. “Are you - are you _jealous_?” He should probably hide some of his bare-faced excitement and wide grin, but he can’t help it. Liam’s fucking jealous!

“No. Fuck you. You are.” Liam’s phone has evidently become the most interesting thing in the universe, because he can’t stop staring at it.

Harry plops down next to him on the sofa, sidling up until he’s almost pasted against his side. “You are! You’re jealous of me and Zayn. Which is so ridiculous considering how I felt about you and Zayn, back when we…” he trails off.

Liam’s head shoots up. “When we what, Harry? When you were using me for sex? When you were acting like the worst human to ever exist, except for like, war criminals and stuff? When were you jealous of me and Zayn?” Liam turns red with anger or embarrassment, Harry can’t tell, and looks away.

“Always, Liam. I’m always jealous when _anyone_ gets to touch you that isn’t me,” Harry says sincerely.

Liam stutters and backs away from him, pressing into the arm of the sofa. “I-I have a boyfriend.”

“I know. And I accept that – for now. But you need to know, Liam, that he will _never_ feel the same way about you that I do. He’ll _never_ touch you like I did. He will _never_ know you like I do,” Harry declares fiercely.

Liam shakes his head, looking lost. “Harry, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know, Liam, and I’m sorry I’ve cornered you. I did it once before and you hated it then. I’m sorry for that, too. But I had to tell you to your face, alone, that I’m sorry for everything I did to you.”

Liam just stares at him, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like he can’t form words. Harry ploughs on because he has Liam’s undivided attention for the first time in five months and he needs him to understand that he feels like he’s being ripped _apart_ with how much he loves him.

“I’m sorry I fucked up, Liam. I’m sorry _I’m_ fucked up. But mostly I’m sorry I fucked _us_ up, cause you were the best thing that ever happened to me when I was the worst I could be, and I should have realised how lucky I was to have you.” 

Liam lets out a breathy gasp and turns his head away, but Harry reaches out and pulls his gaze back to him with the bent knuckle of his index finger, not letting Liam escape this.

“But I want to be very clear about something. I’m NOT sorry we happened. And I’m going to fix myself, Liam – I _am_ fixing myself. And then get ready, because I’m coming back to fix _us_. And you better watch out, baby, cause I know what you need now. I know what both of us need and I’m going to make it happen,” he promises fervently, finger stroking the side of Liam’s shocked face. “With every bit of a soul I have left in me – that you healed in me – I’m coming back for us, Liam.”

He leans in and kisses Liam lightly on his slack lips, running a spit-slick tongue along the bottom one before pulling back calmly, staring into his eyes. “I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

With that, Harry gets up and walks back out the door, leaving Liam stunned and gaping on the couch.

 

_You are invited to a Garden Party at the home of Harry Styles._

_Friday 26th May, (this year)_

_1 o’clock (try to be awake before noon)_

_Guests Welcome, (as long as they’re called Perrie or Eleanor)_

_BYO alcohol, (as I have none)_

 

“Wow, Haz, that’s a fancy invitation for being written on the back of a cut out piece of Coco-Pops box.” Zayn flicks it over in his hands wryly.

“That was all I had at home. That’s also why it’s written in purple biro,” Harry replies, adding sugar to his hot chocolate and ignoring the look Zayn shoots him. He's given up all his fun things, he’s not letting sugar go, too.

“So is this about making amends?”

“Some. It’s mostly about showing off my dope gardening skills.”

Zayn cringes. “Don’t say ‘dope’, you can’t pull it off.”

“Bite me. Just pass the invitation around to the boys.”

“Shall I stick a first class stamp on it, or…?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “How about I stick one on you and mail you to my butt.”

“I miss when you weren’t talking to me,” Zayn sighs.

“Me too.” Harry pats his shoulder consolingly. “Make sure Liam gets it, yeah? Make sure he knows he’s invited _specifically_.”

“Jesus, shall I draw two boxes and tell him to tick the first if he likes you and the second if he doesn’t?” Zayn throws the offending card back on the table.

“Be a smart arse all you want, just make sure he comes,” Harry insists, and heads out of the room back to the studio.

It’s been two weeks since Harry talked to Liam in the break room.

For the first few days, Liam avoided Harry as best he could; no longer looking at him pissy and offended, but trying to avoid any kind of one on one contact. Harry generally let him get away with it, giving him space to come to terms with things – to let what he said sink in.

It didn’t stop the occasional wink in his direction during a meeting, just to see Liam blush and stutter. 

Harry also didn’t resist rubbing his neck for him during a live interview, until Liam stoped tensing up from Harry’s proximity and closed his eyes. An elbow from Zayn had forced Harry to let go, after Liam had looked close to moaning and tipping his head back in bliss. Harry still leaned down while Niall was answering a question about the new album, and whispered into Liam’s ear, “My little Puppy. I’ll pet you after, if you want.”

Liam left before any of the others and avoided him all the next day, but Harry felt immensely proud of himself anyway.

It was hard being in love with someone and not with them, Harry discovered. All he wanted every second of the day was to have Liam near him, next to him, touching him – some part of his skin on Harry’s skin. 

He found himself wandering off into fantasies of being able to press Liam against the break room counter when he was making his morning tea and kissing him until he whimpered. Of lifting him to sit on the mixing board during recording sessions, moving between his legs and sucking on his neck until he had a string of hickeys so vivid you could see them from space. Of lying on the sofa when they were all sleepy and raspy from singing their faces off and pulling Liam on top of him, pressing them together from shoulders to knees and breathing him in until he was in Harry’s _lungs_.

All in all, those first days were frustrating.

But Harry’s right to assume all Liam needs is time to adjust, because that Thursday he walks right up to him at the sandwich table in the studio and hands him a plate.

“Don’t pick directly off the table, Harry, it’s rude. And take some fruit.” Liam walks off. 

It not exactly a declaration of undying love, but it’s something. And Harry can work with something.

For the next few days, Liam gets progressively chattier until they’re having full conversations, sometimes without anyone else there as a buffer, and it feels easy and simple and like they’re falling back into something comfortable. 

They spend Tuesday morning having a debate about which comic book hero could eradicate infectious diseases, (Harry chooses Tony Stark, for obvious reasons; Liam chooses Batman, for no other reason than he wants it to be true,) and they laugh and shout and run around the building taking a poll, and Harry feels a deep well of joy bubbling up from his stomach into his throat.

Even without Harry’s attempts to win Liam back, it’s nice for all five of them to be talking normally again. Like Liam’s finally slotting back into place, making the puzzle complete.

Even the record execs and their handlers seem to notice. They start to get excited about the album, buzzing about how it’s going to be the best one yet, and now Harry’s back in line they can happily send them out into the public without worrying he’s going to go rogue and burn the house to the ground.

It’s all very pleasant. But Harry wants more than pleasant with Liam. And Liam knows it, if the way he stumbles and flushes when they’re talking and he catches Harry staring at him like he wants to eat him alive is anything to go by. 

Harry knows he can wear Liam down if he keeps the flirting up long enough. He’s not going back to being just friends as if that’s all they ever were – all they ever will be. 

And Harry wants to be very clear about what his ideal outcome is. 

So he starts telling Liam straight out.

 

“Do you think we should get another dog?” Harry asks Liam, leaning against the reception desk as they wait for their driver to pull around.

“Uh, what?” Liam looks confused.

“As a pet. Do you think we should get another dog to play with Loki, or a cat? I think if we get a dog we should have at least three because they’re more fun in packs. And if we get a place with a big garden, or somewhere in the country, we can get those cool massive ones.”

Liam shakes his head, laughing, and walks off.

 

“I brought you a Caramel Frappuccino, whipped cream, extra sauce,” Harry hands Liam the coffee.

“Oh. Thanks, Harry.”

“You know, if we were married, I’d do this every morning,” he widens his eyes and sucks at his own straw.

Liam kicks him in the leg, pink and giggling. “Shut your face.”

 

“Ow, fuck!”

“What happened?” Harry spins around and strides over to Liam in the doorway, worried.

“I caught my finger in the door,” he’s squeezing at his index finger and hissing.

Harry takes Liam’s injured hand and pulls it gently to his face, blowing softly, holding Liam’s deer-in-the-headlights gaze.

“If you were my boyfriend, I could kiss it better,” Harry laments, shrugging his shoulders.

Liam’s breath catches and he stands in place for a long time after Harry steps back, staring dumbfounded into space.

 

Harry doesn’t know what causes Liam to eventually come round, but he's quietly shocked when he does.

He’s sitting in an armchair in the middle of an interminably boring artwork meeting, Zayn straddling the armrest next to him. They meandered off into their own conversation a while ago.

“I just don’t understand the point,” Harry complains to Zayn under his breath, tapping at his phone. “If you want to send something you can only see for ten seconds, then maybe it’s something you shouldn’t be sending in the first sodding place.”

“It’s for stuff that you don’t want other people to see, just the person you’re sending it to.”

“So basically you’re saying you use Snapchat to send Perrie pictures of your dick, cause you’re worried she’ll sell them to the Daily Mail? Nice trusting boyfriend you are.” He smirks and manoeuvres away from the smack he knows is coming.

“No dickhole, but you don’t know who’s hacking into our phones and shit. And like what if she loses it and…”

Zayn trails off and Harry feels someone squeeze themselves into the space next to him. He twists around to find Liam pressing himself to his side. He’s actually frozen in place with shock, which has the side-effect of allowing Liam to hook his chin over Harry’s shoulder and snuggle into his back.

“Hello.”

“Hi. What’s going on, trouble?” Harry manages to choke out, totally cool. This situation is totally cool and he is _totally cool._

“M’bored. What are you looking at?”

“Um, me and Zayn are debating if Snapchat is the most useless app ever.” Harry tilts his chin in Zayn’s direction and sees him looking as perplexed as Harry feels, eyebrow raised at Harry, like he has any fucking clue himself.

“What’s Snapchat?” Liam asks, all bottom lip and guileless expression and if it was _anyone else_ , Harry would say this was blatant flirting.

“It’s a thing where you can send photos and videos to a group of your contacts and they can only see it for a little while before it deletes itself.”

Liam wrinkles his nose, and in another world Harry would pull him onto his lap and bite it. “What naughty stuff are you sending that you’d need that?”

“Exactly!” Harry exclaims, ignoring the shushes Max from the studio sends him. “That’s what I was just saying to Zayn.” He’s only talking slightly lower, adjusting his body to face Liam. Liam smiles, eyes twinkling, and falls against him.

“Show me, then.” Liam curls a hand around his upper arm and nudges him, looking down at the phone distressingly close to Harry’s rapidly awakening cock.

“Um, I don’t actually have it yet, but… I can download it if you give me a sec,” he uses his thumbs to quickly navigate around iTunes. “Or Zayn can show you on his.”

Liam’s face does something complicated at that suggestion, and it shouldn’t, but it makes Harry feel delighted. “No, I’ll wait for you.”

Liam’s cold nose smushes into Harry’s shoulder and he can feel the damp from his lips pressing through his shirt. Harry smiles happily when leans back into Liam and doesn’t get rebuffed, and relaxes, resting his head on top of Liam’s as he works.

“Yeah, I’m not going to be a pawn in this weird, twisted game.” Zayn gets up. “Good luck to you both.” 

Harry opens his mouth – to call Zayn back, ask him what he’s banging on about, he doesn’t know – but Liam’s hand is on his neck the second Zayn steps away, dragging his attention back.

“Hey, I want a cuddle,” he murmurs, burrowing in and nuzzling, and Harry’s thought process is reduced to _Christ Almighty._

From then on, Liam’s all over him in a way that usually ends with Harry having to run off for a shame wank in the toilets. 

If he’s not giving him eyes over the rim of a coffee mug, he’s snuggling against him on the couch, rearranging his hair, tracing the tattoos on his wrist with the tip of an index finger. Always in front of people or cameras. Always in places where Harry has no choice but to let it happen, and not throw him onto the nearest flat surface and lick him all over. Liam just scurries off afterwards so Harry can’t catch him.

It’s driving him mental.

 

The day of the Garden Party, Harry spends the morning assembling plates of meat ready to be barbecued, and hastily putting together salads with the help of an unopened Jamie Oliver cookbook his mum bought him for his first housewarming.

He thankfully gets a break from it when Perrie and Zayn come over at eleven, all hugs and crates of drinks, and Perrie takes over the food duties while he and Zayn go outside to set up garden furniture and the barbeque like the rugged men they so obviously are.

“So what time is everyone else arriving?” Harry’s secretly hoping for everyone to be predictably late, as he's underestimated how much work parties that involve more than getting drunk in the living room are.

“1 o’clock, like you said. But chill out, no one expects much from you…” Zayn trials off, realising he’s put his foot in it. “I didn’t mean like –”

Harry shrugs it off casually. “No, it’s fine. I mean, why should they right? I’ve not given anyone a reason to think I’m capable of being a grown up. I get that I have to prove myself, Zayn, that’s what this is about.”

Zayn stops unpacking picnic-ware to stare at him soppily, and Harry knows he's about to say something nauseating. “You know I’m really proud of you, yeah?”

“I know you are. Thank you.” They smile at each other. “Do you want to make out, or will Perrie get jealous?”

Zayn laughs and throws a plastic glass at his head, and Harry ducks it and runs away, giggling like a fool. He always feels like a giggling fool with Zayn now. He's kind of overwhelmingly grateful. 

Harry finishes setting up the garden until there’s a large enough space for them to bring out all the food Perrie has thrown together. She’s somehow found actual salad bowls in his kitchen, and whipped up pitchers of margaritas and virgin daiquiris as if by magic, and by the end of the morning Harry’s considering holding her hostage to run his life for him.

The boys and Eleanor arrive at just gone one, and Harry pours them all drinks like a good host before showing them around his garden. He feels unaccountably proud when they all ooh and ahh in genuine amazement, patting him on the back as he describes the different breeds of ivy and shows them where he’s created a colony of rock-star gnomes. 

“So honestly, who’d you hire to do this?” Niall squeezes the back of Harry’s neck jokingly.

Harry ducks and strops away from him, mock outraged. “Hey, this is the work of my fine green hand, I’ll have you know!”

“This is the work of hands that needed a serious distraction from groping crotches and setting up tequila shots,” Louis laughs, and Eleanor slaps him lightly.

“I think it’s lovely, Harry,” she tells him, airy and sweet, like a Disney princess.

“Thank you, Elle. See that is a nice thing to say, fuckers!”

Liam hangs back a bit, seeming to take everything in with a deep interest, listening to Harry’s tour guide speech and smiling gently to himself. Every time Harry sees Liam reach out a hand to touch the petals of plants he’s so meticulously and devotedly worked to make thrive, he gets a tingle up his spine – one that makes his whole body hum with excitement and anticipation and something deepening in the pit of his gut that he has to bury or embarrass himself.

They sit down to eat when he’s finished – Harry working the grill while Perrie and Eleanor dish things onto plates like the sensible girls they are. The boys all dig in, resembling pigs at a trough. 

With a nudge from Eleanor, Louis comes over and takes over barbequing duties from Harry halfway through so he can sit down and eat, and Harry reluctantly gives up his post, knowing from experience that Louis has no concept of meat temperatures. 

With a parting shot of, “If it’s brown it cooked, if it’s black it’s fucked,” he takes Louis’ vacated chair, which happens to be next to where Liam’s devouring Perrie's potato salad and a turkey burger, and smiles at him as he grabs a plate. 

“So you haven’t told me yet, what do you think of the garden?” 

Liam glances around and Harry doesn’t think he imagines the twinkle of delight in his eye. “I think it’s fantastic, Harry. You’ve done an amazing job, it looks beautiful.”

Harry just stares at Liam’s face, biting his lip so he doesn’t say something totally humiliating in front of everyone. 

Liam stares back for a few seconds, then ducks his head and laughs adorably. “So what’s next? Are you taking up landscape gardening professionally?” he asks, grabbing a bread roll.

“Yes, I’m calling it Harry’s Hoe’s,” Harry replies absently, distracted by the movement of Liam’s arms.

Liam laughs, and Harry somehow feels prouder of that than he does of the whole garden they’re sitting in. “Yeah, I think you’re probably going to get loads of business.”

“I actually think I’m going to put in a pond over by the back wall. Maybe add this small rock-pool-waterfall-thing I saw at the garden centre last weekend,” he gestures vaguely with the hand not holding a hot dog.

“You’re going to do that by yourself? Not get someone in?” Liam asks, impressed, and Harry tries to play it as cool as he can in the hopes Liam will see him as some kind of virile, hunky workman, who’s useful to have around the house. 

“Yeah, of course. It should be easy.”

“Oh, well, let me know if you want a hand. I can maybe come over sometimes and help with stuff,” Liam offers nervously, and Harry can’t stop staring at his face in profile, the afternoon sun making him look angelic and perfect here in this garden Harry made.

“Really?” He can’t believe Liam’s actually offering to come to his home, presumably alone, to spend time with him.

“Sure, if you want me to. But if it’s something you want to do on your own, then – ” 

“NO! No, no, I don’t want to do it alone, I’d love you to help, I’d love it. We can arrange a time, I’ll get some stuff in and we can make a day of it.” Harry’s aware he’s leaping on the idea with enough fierce enthusiasm to scare Liam off. 

But Liam just nods and smiles sweetly again. “Cool. Let me know when.”

 

The party goes incredibly well – full of laughter and fun and brightness. 

The girls and Louis and Niall get tipsy. They giggle loudly, run around the garden, tell terrible, filthy jokes, and rummage around Harry’s back cupboard for an old twister mat that they set up on the grass. Occasionally a drunken bout of truth or dare breaks out, but stops completely after Niall ends up with his head stuck in a fence and Harry and Zayn have to saw him free.

Zayn stays sober – Harry knows for his sake – and Liam’s not much of a drinker anyway, so they mostly sit together on the patio, chatting and laughing at the others’ drunken antics.

The sun goes down and Niall decides to get out the Karaoke machine he’d bought Harry last Christmas that he’d bitterly tossed into the spare room, setting it up on the grass. He kicks things off to the groans of the others, probably earning Harry a well-deserved noise complaint with his rendition of Sexy/Back that no one should ever hear.

It steadily devolves from there; Louis and Eleanor dueting on No Air while Zayn makes dramatic gestures in the foreground, quickly followed by Perrie’s ode to Beyoncé, complete with truly skilled booty shaking. They all wave along to Zayn’s medley of R’n’B classics, which he tops off with Poker Face at Perrie’s drunken and hilarious insistence. 

He even joins in when Eleanor requests that they all sing their X-Factor auditions, singing Stevie Wonder loudly, joyously, jumping around the makeshift stage like he’s 16 and happy, blissfully ignorant of the shit life can throw at him.

The other performances almost make him tear up, except for Liam’s. Harry watches that one white-knuckled on the armrests of his chair, telling himself all the reasons why he can’t rush the stage and rip off Liam’s jeans with his teeth. Liam follows it up with another song that Harry doesn’t catch, dashing into the house under the pretence of getting more drinks and instead hiding in his bathroom until it’s over.

Harry doesn’t know if he can cope with this much longer. Wanting Liam this much, all day, every day… it’s driving him to the brink, and he has no fucking clue what’s over the edge of it. 

He has a feeling he’s going to find out soon enough.

The rest of the day is a blur of the most genuine fun Harry’s had in a long time, and he’s actually surprised that he doesn’t need to drink to be happy and excited to be with his friends.

Just past midnight, Louis starts fading, head tipping back on the chair where he’s sitting talking to Harry and Liam at the kitchen table. He drops off for a second, neck falling limply then snapping forwards, flipping off Harry laughing at him. “Okay, fellas, I’m off. Past my bedtime, I’m afraid.”

“You okay to drive?” Harry asks, hand already on his phone to dial a cab.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Haven’t had a drink since eight.” He walks steadily enough for Harry to be convinced over to Niall and Eleanor, who fell asleep next to each other on Harry’s couch a while ago. 

Perrie and Zayn have been snogging furiously in the corner for the past hour, getting closer and closer to ripping off clothes. Harry gets up and smacks Zayn on the head. “Oi, you two. Go home before I get the hose.”

Zayn tries to mumble something about being hospitable, but Perrie’s high-fived Harry cheekily and gone back to sloppily sucking on his neck, so he can’t form anything but raspy moans.

“See ya, Hazza. Was an awesome time. Proud of you,” Louis ruffles his hair, and Harry pats him affectionately on the head.

He carries Eleanor out to the car, ushering a sleepy Niall with them as best he can with no hands free. Meanwhile, Zayn gets up to look for his keys as Perrie follows Harry to the kitchen, drunkenly trying to help him clean up. 

“Perrie, love, go home. I’ll stay and help Harry,” Liam says, picking up a tea towel and sliding past her.

Harry tries to act cool as he stacks the dishwasher and doesn’t meet Liam’s eyes.

“No, no, I can help, s’fiiiinnne,” Perrie slurs, then drops an empty bowl of what used to be coleslaw on the floor, falling down with it when she bends over to chase it under the table.

Zayn laughs and picks her up by the waist, letting her slump against him as he walks her to Liam and Harry for a kiss.

“Thanks for a great day, Harry. I’ll talk to you boys tomorrow.” He winks at Harry on his way out the door, making really unsubtle head tilts towards where Liam’s wiping down counter tops, and Harry really wishes he’d fuck off and die before Liam sees him.

“Yeah, I’m sure I will, Zayn, thanks,” he glares.

“Bye, boys,” Perrie waves, and then laughs loudly as she trips on her own shoe and collapses to the floor.

Harry laughs and blows her a kiss. “Night, drunkalicious, drink lots of water.”

The door closes behind them, and Harry turns and shoots a smile at Liam that he hopes conveys how totally normal he finds this situation, and how he’s not freaking out at all.

Harry’s aware that Liam feels safe flirting with him in public where there’s no chance of it devolving into something more – but now he’s willingly put himself in a situation where they’re alone together, in Harry’s house no less, and Harry’s trying not to let his mind (and cock) jump to conclusions about what that means.

They clean the rest of the kitchen in comfortable silence, working around each other until it’s presentable, leaving the Karaoke machine in the living room for the morning.

“Do you want coffee?” Harry offers carefully, when he comes in from taking out the last of the rubbish.

“Tea’s better this time of night,” Liam says, after a pause. 

“Good point.” Harry moves round to Liam’s side of the kitchen island to get to the kettle, and Liam seems to tense with anticipation before covering it quickly. 

Harry wonders if Liam’s expecting him to pounce. 

Or if he’s hoping for it.

“How’s Chris?” Harry asks purposefully, making sure Liam knows he has some kind of buffer to throw up if he really wants to warn Harry off.

As far as Harry’s concerned, Chris is a non-entity nowadays. He’s nothing. But if Liam needs to hide behind him for the time being, Harry’ll let him.

“Um, good, I think? We haven’t really spoken properly in a while. It’s hard with him being so far away,” Liam answers, thumbnail picking at a dried sauce spot on the counter.

“I bet.” Harry takes the hint of trouble in paradise as tacit permission to act as he wants.

He finishes making the tea, brushing up against Liam as he goes about reaching for tea bags and spooning sugar into mugs. The air feels thick with anticipation. Liam’s eyes keep darting from Harry’s hands to his chest to his face, and as much as Harry wants to drop everything and jump on him, he wants more for this to happen right. Doesn’t want to fall back into old habits. Liam _deserves_ more from him this time.

He leads them both to the living room and they sit either end of the couch, sipping their tea like this is something they do. Like Liam’s unaware that Harry would like to rip his clothes off and lick him out until he screams. Harry’s finding this pretence more and more ridiculous the longer it goes on.

“You seem to be doing better lately,” Liam says, all forced casualness.

“Yeah, I think I am. Zayn’s been really great actually, I don’t think I could done this if it weren’t for him.”

“Yeah, he’s a good friend.” Liam smiles politely.

Harry’s had enough of being polite with Liam. 

“He is. I’m glad he took care of you when I couldn’t. I’ll always be grateful for that.” 

Liam’s whole body tenses, knowing something’s coming. 

“But he doesn’t need to anymore. I’m ready now, Liam, yeah? I can be what you need. _I_ can be the one that takes care of you. In every way that matters.”

Liam sits frozen, mouth opening and closing, unsure of what to say or do. He releases a long sigh when Harry doesn’t back down, gaze pinning him, seeming to make his peace with this conversation finally happening.

“Can you really, Harry? Cause don’t get me wrong, I see how far you’ve come and it’s fantastic. You seem calmer and happier and you take care of yourself and you look…” he runs his eyes over Harry and his breath catches, “Oh god – really, really good.” 

Harry smiles cockily and reaches for him, but Liam shoves himself back. “ _But_. Are you really past all that other stuff? Or do you just want to be? Because I can’t do what I did before again, Harry, it hurt too much. I can’t think I’m fixing you when I’m not, and you’re just treating me like shit cause I let you, I can’t –” 

“No, Liam, no, you _did_ fix me! I don’t even… how can you think I would have done _any_ of this – come this far – if it weren’t for you?” Harry gapes, amazed. 

“Zayn did this! Zayn helped you properly. I just made things worse.” Liam’s bordering on hysterical and Harry grabs their cups and bangs them on the coffee table, letting the scalding liquid slop over the sides so he can paw frantically at Liam’s hands, pulling them to his chest and holding him there like some kind of fucking romantic hero. 

“Liam, Zayn helped me get my life together – but I _wanted_ to get my life together so I could be with you. Baby, fuck, I love you, how can you not realise how much I fucking _love_ you?” Harry moves his right hand to cup and grasp the side of Liam’s face, furiously. “And when I was fucked up it was _my_ fault, and you _made_ me love you in spite of myself. And when you left me and I _broke_ , that was because I knew I’d fucked it up. It wasn’t because of you – _none_ of the shitty, stupid things I’ve done have been your fault – you’re the best thing, _my_ best thing… You saved me,” he chokes, on the verge of tears, pressing kisses all over Liam’s face.

Liam blinks. “You love me?”

“With everything left in me. It devastates me. _You_ devastate me. I’d do _anything_ to be with you.” Harry half pulls, half catches Liam as they crash together, mouths meeting hungry and desperate. Liam whines into Harry’s mouth and he takes it – takes it as his own and relearns it – reminding himself what he had and let go. 

They kiss messy and hard, all grabbing hands in shirts and hair, and Harry knows that one or both of them is crying, but he’s too distracted to think about it because he’s trying to _inhale_ Liam until he can keep him inside him and never let him go again.

Harry remembers reading Love in the Time of Cholera on a long plane trip once and thinking the main guy was a dick. Loving someone so much you eat flowers to be close to them and prostrating yourself at the altar of eternal love? Harry threw the book back to Zayn with the concise review of, ‘what a twat’. Right here on his couch, Liam clingy and wanting in his arms while Harry fervidly begs him with his lips and teeth and tongue to believe he loves him and he _needs_ him, Harry thinks he finally gets it. He understands what it is to need someone so much you think you’ll _die_ without them.

Although he hopes the fact he’s now a sap never leaves this room.

Too soon, Liam’s pulling back, trying to bat away Harry’s greedy hands tugging him back in, not very successfully dodging Harry’s mouth on his lips and neck.

“No, no, wait Harry, HARRY! Stop. I’m – I’m still with someone, remember,” Liam pants.

“Right, no, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I just want to show you how much I love you, that’s all.” Harry doesn’t even try to hide his manipulative pout.

“Ugh, Harry,” Liam moans, smacking his leg. “And it’s not just Chris, y’know? We need to talk about this. We can’t just go back and start fucking again, we need to _talk_ first.”

“I know, I know,” Harry agrees, cause Liam’s totally right. This is exactly what he said he wouldn’t do. “Okay, let’s talk. Please, I want to.”

“Alright.” Liam licks his lips, looking unsure; wary that Harry’s agreeing so easily. He still doesn’t understand what this means to Harry – how deadly serious he is about earning it and treasuring it and making it _work_. Harry prompts him with a benign smile and an expectant tilt of his head.

“Okay, well. First, I think we need to talk about how I don’t know if I can trust you yet. I want to!” Liam cuts in hurriedly as Harry looks away, shamefaced. “I do, really. But it was such a _bad_ six months of us, Harry. A bad three years for you. And as much as you _know_ I’m so attracted to you, more than is probably healthy for me – I don’t know _how_ to trust you. To trust that you won’t hurt me, or leave, or cheat, or say what I want to hear just to…” he shakes his head, frustrated.

“Liam, I get it, I do,” Harry reassures him, pressing a finger under his chin and turning his head to make sure he sees how sincere he is. “And I’ll do _whatever_ you need to trust me again. So if you need to punish me, test me, make me jump through hoops, I’ll do it all. Take it all. But I promise at the end of it, I’m still going to be sitting here waiting for you. There’s no one else for me, Liam. You’re it.”

Liam stares bewildered and unblinking, eyebrows a puzzled furl. “Well, that’s just – it will help me resist you a lot if you stop saying all the right things.” 

Harry laughs. “That’s not an incentive to stop, darlin’.” 

Liam fights back a smile, and drops forwards to bury his face in Harry’s shoulder. Harry holds him gently, strokes his fingertips in circles over his back, contemplating if he should bring up Liam’s issues in bed.

“Do you want to talk about the sex?” Harry asks, after a moment of indecision.

“What about the sex? I thought you enjoyed it? You made sure we had enough of it.” Liam looks up anxiously, and Harry rubs his arms in soothing sweeps.

“The fact that you even question whether that was the best sex of my life, makes me worried you weren’t actually _there_ ,” he grins as Liam rolls his eyes and giggles, worried mouth smoothing out. “I mean, do you want to talk about the whole you getting off on being dominated thing?”

Liam blushes like Harry’s never seen before. Like it’s the first time he’s been confronted with the notion, which Harry doesn’t think is the case.

“Did Zayn tell you about that?” Liam asks, suddenly defensive, shoulders hunched protectively.

“Some. I figured the rest out myself. It was obvious when it was pointed out to me,” Harry rubs his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension and make Liam look at him again, unsure what he’s done wrong.

“Great, I’m so glad it’s obvious I get off on freaky shit, like being treated like crap,” he keeps looking away, voice sullen and embarrassed.

“What? That’s not even – that’s not it at _all_ , Liam. Haven’t you been…” Harry’s voice is high-pitched with disbelief, and he grabs at Liam’s hand, trying to stop him shutting down or running off. “If I’ve learned anything about what we had, it’s that it was perfectly natural and special and not about making you feel like crap. It turns you on, letting go, letting me take over, and it was my job to take that control and still make you feel loved and safe in those moments and I didn’t, cause I was a selfish, ignorant prick!”

Liam looks sceptical, so Harry shakes him slightly in place, forcing him to listen, to look in his eyes and see how much he means this. “I’m the arsehole, Liam. Please don’t be ashamed baby, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Do you know how fucking _hot_ it makes me that I’m the only one that’s made you come properly? ”

“You liked it that much?” Liam asks, wrinkling his eyebrows as if he can’t comprehend why.

“Liam, if I’d known those were your first proper orgasms at the time – _fuck_. I don’t even know how I would have handled it. I wouldn’t have been able to let you go in the first place. As fucked up as I was, I think I would have _welded_ you to me,” Harry growls, barely restraining himself from mauling him. Liam looks at him doubtfully, smiling shyly and radiating a tiny hint of smugness once he realises Harry is completely serious.

“Imagine how good it’ll be when I do it right, Puppy. When you can trust me to take care of you. It’s going to be mind-blowing. It’ll be it for both of us, I know it, sweetheart, I just know it.” 

Harry’s so turned on talking about this. Talking about them and their sex and how good it’s going to be for them, that he can’t even focus on any half-cobbled together rules about not pushing Liam too hard. He dives on Liam’s mouth ravenously, kissing him like he needs him to _live_. 

“Mmm, Harry, I don’t want to cheat,” Liam moans between kisses that he doesn’t stop. 

Harry chokes down the voice that’s screaming, you were _mine_ first, you’re _still mine_. Instead rocks Liam into him, purring carefully, “It’s not cheating when he can’t make you come, angel,” into his ear.

“Fuck, Harry,” Liam moans as Harry bites his neck. “Wait, how did you know about that?” he pushes him back. “Zayn? I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Shhh, forget Zayn for now, he was just trying to help,” Harry tries to pacify him, rubbing his nose into Liam’s hair. “And I won’t make you do anything you’re uncomfy with. But we both know Chris can’t do the same things to you I can.” He moves back in to suck at the birthmark on his throat, thinking about begging Liam to let him spunk on it.

“Even so, he’s a nice guy, Harry. He doesn’t deserve this,” Liam argues, half-heartedly. 

“I know, Puppy. But nice guys don’t make you scream like I do.” Harry bites Liam’s bottom lip and _tugs_ , and Liam’s head tips back, gasping. 

Harry uses the distraction to get him out of his button down and belt. It makes Liam blink and come back to himself, and he bends back out of his reach. “Harry, if we – if we do this when I’m with someone, it won’t feel right again…”

And ugh, as much as Harry’s dick disagrees, Liam’s right. “Well… we don’t have to have sex. I’ll just make you come. I won’t put my hands or mouth anywhere near your bits.” Harry almost gets whiplash from the speed his mind comes up with that.

Liam huffs out a laugh. “How?”

“You lie down and show me how you like to be touched. I’ll just watch – no touching, I promise. I want to learn what you like, what your body needs. I want to look at you gorgeous and naked on my carpet while you get yourself off so I can do those things for you from now on.” The more Harry talks his idea out, the more he feels like a fucking genius. 

“And you won’t touch me?” Liam almost scoffs, looking at him sceptically.

“No touching, I mean it. I want to show you that you can trust me.” Harry pulls himself back from Liam’s skin with his palms out, all sincere and earnest – at least as much as he can ever get away with.

Liam licks his lips like he's unsure, and Harry realises it’s going to take a lot more than a promise – a lot more than words – before Liam trusts him again.

“Come on, baby. I know it’s been forever since you’ve come nice and hard. Let me take care of you,” Harry coaxes into his ear.

Liam tilts towards his lips, whining slightly, before forcing himself to pull back. He stares at Harry intently for a tense minute, fighting through the fog of obvious arousal to search for any sign that he’s bullshitting. Harry tries to force his entire being to radiate that Liam can trust him – that he wants this – and Liam must sense it, because he eventually nods and stands, sliding down his jeans and boxers with fumbling fingers, all nervous energy.

Harry spends a moment taking in Liam’s perfectly sculpted body in gaping silence, appreciating it properly for the first time – chiselled and toned and so well-proportioned Harry doesn’t feel worthy to touch him. He only stops when he feels actual _drool_ start to collect in the corners of his mouth. 

“Fuck, you’re the best thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers reverently.

Liam grins. “Don’t be silly.” 

“There is nothing silly about the way you look to me.”

Liam rolls his eyes like he’s amused by Harry’s emphatic compliments – like he doesn’t believe him. He’s going to _make_ him believe him, even if he has to tell him every single day.

Harry gets up and pushes the coffee table back until there's a large patch of carpet for Liam to lie down on, which he does carefully, looking very aware that he’s naked while Harry’s fully clothed.

Harry knows he wants to play with power and control with Liam, but now is not the time for that. It’s about something else between them – _proving_ something else – so Harry stands back up and strips quickly, letting Liam watch him. Liam’s face twists in amazement at what he sees and Harry smiles all teeth and brazen pride, making sure he shows off for him.

“You ready?” He kneels down at Liam’s side, running his eyes down the long length of tan skin stretched tightly over well-formed muscle, stopping to watch the way Liam’s ribs move and shift as he wiggles nervously. His limbs stretch as he tries to get comfortable and his thick, pink cock starts to harden under Harry’s gaze. “I want to know what you like, Liam. Show me what you like,” he drawls.

Liam pouts his lips and blows out slowly. He closes his eyes and moves his right hand over his stomach, flattening his palm and rubbing in soft circles, and Harry holds his breath while he waits for Liam to swallow his nerves. Doesn’t want to do anything to scare him into stopping.

He watches transfixed and curious as Liam starts out careful and teasing with himself, pressing firmly before tempering it with fingertips running playful lines up and down his torso, from neck to hips. He brings his other hand down to snake between his thighs, gripping the inside of the left and rubbing the same light circles up and down, never touching any of the places that Harry knows he loves.

“You like being teased. You like being made to wait for it before you go to town,” Harry mumbles softly, his hands running the tops of his own thighs, trying to ignore his fully hard prick.

Liam nods, gasping when he opens his eyes and sees Harry’s cock there.

“You’re surprised this turns me on?” Harry asks.

“I-I guess. You’re not touching me,” Liam stammers, eyes dancing over the damp, swollen head.

Harry swiftly takes himself in hand and squeezes hard at the tip, partly to ward off his arousal, partly so that it glistens with a fresh drop of precum for Liam to feast his eyes on. “Don’t need to, I’ve been hard for you for a _year_. You’re incredible, Puppy, keep going.”

Liam pulls his legs up, feet resting on the floor so his thighs form a vee, and he doesn’t look away from Harry this time, just keeps running his eyes from his face to his dick as he brings both hands up to thumb the hard points of his sweet, pink nipples.

“You like being touched on your pretty little tits, baby? Like it when I take them in my mouth and chew on them until you’re leaking?” Harry purrs, watching him avidly.

Liam cries out, pinching his nipples harder. “Fuck, Harry, _yes_. They’re really sensitive. It always shot straight to my cock when you played with them. Never used to understand what they were for before you.” 

“Do you like it when I twist them hard, or when I tease you – just flick my fingers over them?” Harry asks, genuinely curious.

Liam’s eyes stay focused on his own fingers, too shy to look at Harry while he talks. “I don’t – both, I guess? I like it when you start gentle and work up to being rough with them.”

“Good boy, I’ll remember that. Tell me where else you like to be touched.” Harry’s having a hard time keeping his breathing even now – keeping his hand off his own dick. He looks at Liam laid out like a perfect display, thumbing his own nipples while his cock leaks profusely between his thighs.

Liam slides the tips of his fingers down over his ribs to his pelvis and rubs right around where his cock is resting heavy and wet on his belly, leaving trails of sticky pre-fuck. “I like being teased here. Not touching my dick, just around my lower abdomen. It tingles when I’m turned on and when my skin gets brushed there it feels like it sparks. Like lightning could come off it in the dark,” Liam muses almost innocently, and Harry about loses his shit.

“Fuck, Liam, Okay. I’ll touch you there. I’ll kiss you there. I’ll fucking rub my dick there until I come all over your skin and then run my tongue over it while I lick it up.”

“Uhhh!” Liam shouts deliriously, and Harry’s about as gone as he is. He’s barely holding himself back from grabbing his cock and coming like a fucking _porn star_ , while Liam’s making those dirty, punched out, guttural noises that always got Harry fucking chomping at the bit to take him when they were together.

“I need to touch myself, Harry, I can’t take much more, please, please, please,” Liam babbles, almost incoherently.

Harry bends over, murmuring in Liam’s ear, “You don’t need to ask permission, Li, just do what feels good. I want to see what your body needs, show me,” and Liam’s hand shoots down, clenches around the base of his dick and _squeezes_. He groans out loud until he’s under control and then his hand moves lower. 

Harry’s incredibly interested to see him rub over his balls, softly circling both of them with a thumb while he whimpers softly. “You like your balls played with? I didn’t know that.”

“Just sometimes.” Liam looks embarrassed, and Harry doesn’t know why after _everything_ , Liam thinks he should ever be ashamed around him.

“That’s fucking amazing, babe. Want to take them between my lips next time. Suck them in and hold them in my hot mouth. Let my tongue lap over the soft skin. Want to bury my _face_ in them, angel, you think you’d like that?”

Liam loses it, eyes slamming shut, hips jerking up. “Ah, yes! Harry, Harry, Harry, please, please, you can – you can touch me, _please_!”

Harry’s tempted. He’s not going to pretend he’s suddenly turned into a saint – especially not when confronted by the man he loves, naked on his carpet, begging for him. 

But this is about trust. 

And Harry wants Liam _forever_ , not just for right now. He knows it’s his job to be the strong one. To prove Liam can trust him implicitly when he’s out of control and out of his mind.

“No, baby, it’s not time for that yet. But I want you to do something for me, okay?” Harry tells him, voice dark and gravel rough in the silence of the room.

Liam moans, head tossing left then right. “Mmm?” 

“I want you to finger yourself, alright? I want you to slide a finger in your tight pink hole and show me the nicest way to get you stretched and open for my massive cock.” Harry’s never been about modesty before this – he doesn’t think it’ll hurt Liam to start now.

“Oh, oh,” Liam’s gasping. “Okay, Harry.”

“Good boy. I want you to lick your finger, okay? Lick it, and then stick your finger in your arse for me. Now.”

“Harry, I can’t – if you keep talking…” Liam whines, squirming from overstimulation. 

“I know, I know, baby, me talking dirty works you up. But if you feel like you need to come, grab the base of your dick again and I’ll stop until you calm down, alright?” Harry promises, eyes running to where Liam’s cock is pulsing and soaking his belly. 

Liam closes his eyes and visibly tries to get a hold of himself. He runs his hand back up over his chest, leading his fingers to his mouth and opening his perfect, puffy lips to slide his index finger inside, brave enough to look directly at Harry as he sucks and swirls his tongue around, getting it nice and wet. 

Harry watches intently, fingers stroking the soft, deep pile carpet like it’s Liam’s skin. “Fuck, Liam, show me,” he growls. 

Liam moves his finger back down between the arch of his legs, and Harry immediately realises the problem with this situation. He shuffles around on his hands and knees so he’s at Liam’s feet, foregoing any grace and showmanship in favour of eagerness. From here has the perfect view of Liam’s hole swallowing up his finger as he slips it inside easily, and Harry walks back on his knees, pressing his torso to the ground, leaning on his forearms so he can watch the minute clenches Liam’s sphincter makes around his finger as he holds it inside.

Liam begins to move his finger in and out, slowly at first, like everything else he’s done so far – liking the tease before he’s worked over. All Harry wants is to knock Liam’s hand out of the way and mash his face into him; shove his tongue inside Liam’s hole and eat him out, messy and deep, the way he never got to do when he had the chance. 

Liam presses his finger in all the way and curls it up, wiggling it inside until he hits something that makes his whole body wiggle with it, and he moans loud and long and _filthy_.

“You hit your love bump, babe?” Harry asks, breath stuttering, horny as fuck.

“I don’t know. I-I guess,” Liam stammers, sounding confused and unbearably aroused. Harry laughs, cause _Christ_ , how is Liam so fucking adorable when he’s clueless?

“You’re so damn _cute_ , Liam. How can I handle it, huh?” He’s a millisecond away from pressing a kiss to Liam’s inner thigh, breath already hot on his skin. He has to virtually _rip_ himself back until he’s up on his knees again. “Try it again with two fingers, love, it’ll get better.”

Liam obeys, making the same wiggling movements once he gets both fingers stuffed into him, and he bucks up like someone’s sent an electric shock through his body.

“There it is, sweetheart. That’s what I want to see,” Harry praises him, still focused on his busy fingers. When he tears himself away to look up at Liam’s face though, he looks amazed. “Is this the first time you’ve found your prostate on your own?” he asks, flabbergasted.

“Um, yeah. I didn’t know I could do it myself. And I’ve never…” Liam trails off.

“Never what?”

“I never finger myself alone,” he says quietly.

“Never!?” 

“No, Harry, okay?” Liam’s getting arsey. “It didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to do on my own.”

“Appropriate? After the things we’ve done? Considering the things you like?” Harry tries not to sound as amazed as he feels, fully aware of how sensitive Liam is. But this explains a lot. “So you never even did this before we had sex?”

“No, I told you, I didn’t think – I didn’t think it was right,” Liam mumbles petulantly, and Harry turns his head so Liam can’t see the disbelief – the _amazement._

“Hey, okay, hey, you don’t need to be embarrassed to say or do _anything_ in front of me from now on, Liam, yeah?” he says, arranging his face to resemble something neutral. “I think you’re incredible and gorgeous no matter what. Nothing is inappropriate, nothing is wrong, there is actually nothing you can do that I won’t find _excruciatingly_ sexy.” He chuckles to himself, cause the last twelve months have been absolute proof of that.

Liam visibly calms down under Harry’s vehement assurances and relaxes, smiling sunny and warm again. Harry grins back at him. “You ready to make yourself come for me, sweetheart?” 

Liam nods, pressing up to rub their noses together, and Harry’s breath catches and his eyes close as he allows them the small contact, feeling the same as if his whole body were being caressed and touched. After a couple of seconds, he pushes up on his hands and moves back to Liam’s side, needing a minute away from Liam’s skin to gather himself. “Okay, toss yourself off for me, baby. I want to see you come,” he tells him, raspy and eager.

Liam’s hand moves to his cock, grasping it firmly, jerking in long smooth motions. He gathers the cum that’s leaked from the tip by cupping his palm over the head and circling, slicking it back down wetly. 

The squelchy-slick noises of Liam’s hand working his junk are driving Harry mental, and he moves around Liam’s body on his hands and knees like a painter studying his subject, twisting, pressing onto his belly when he needs, so he can watch Liam from every angle. Liam pushes up into his hand when he pulls his cock hard, squirms his hips back and forth when he squeezes at the top, punches little cries of _oh, oh, oh_ the faster he gets, and Harry takes it all in, committing it to memory for later.

He begins to get incredibly noisy as he gets closer, moaning and gasping and swearing under his breath and when he reaches one continuous tortured groan, Harry knows he’s ready. He settles back between his thighs for the best view. “Put your fingers back in, baby. Now.”

Liam obeys and unerringly finds the spot inside himself that made him nuts before, working it furiously. His body contorts, trembles, _shakes_ out of control like it always did during their best sex. Fuck, like it did during _all_ their sex, because all their sex was Liam’s best, and knowing that now makes Harry smug and proud and possessive and fucking _ferocious._

“Fuck, oh! Harry, oh, fuck me, it’s so fucking good. I want you so much, I can’t even – want you inside me, Harry, _now_. I missed you,” he’s babbling like crazy, head turned into Harry’s wrist resting on the floor beside him, and Harry lets him – _has_ to give him some contact – some way to anchor himself to earth while the rest of him goes supersonic. 

“I can’t stand how much I missed you inside me, Harry. I wanted you so much, you don’t know what I had to do to stop myself coming to you. Does that make me a slut, Harry? That I wanted you so much? Am I a slut for you?” Liam’s mouthing desperately at his skin and it’s testing Harry’s control – but not enough that what Liam’s saying doesn’t register, and he shakes himself, looking down at Liam, troubled.

“No, no, I don’t think you’re a slut, Liam, I never thought you were. Even when I said it before, it was just me talking shit to get us off. Is this because you think you’re cheating, cause you’re not. I’m not touching you, I’m not gonna touch you,” Harry says, hurriedly, moving his wrist away from Liam’s mouth and pulling back. But Liam immediately keens towards him, whining, and his hand slows down on his cock where it had been frantic before.

Slow realisation hits Harry and he feels like the thickest man on the planet, even with sex-brain. “Unless – do you like being called that, Liam?” Liam stills like a rabbit caught in the headlights. 

“You like it when I call you a slut,” he smiles slowly. “It gets you off.” Harry’s not surprised when he nods yes and fingers himself harder, almost in a frenzy. “I like that. As long as you’re _my_ slut, and no one else’s,” he rumbles, biting at his own thumb.

Liam stops thrusting his fingers and just holds them inside himself, pressing and twisting deep, whole body fucking _vibrating._

“Come on, baby. Come for me, Liam. Now, now, now,” Harry chants.

Liam shoots thick and uncoordinated over his stomach and thighs, shouting loud enough for the neighbours to hear and Harry feels a rush of pride and want and such overpowering love, that it’s almost enough to make him come without a hand on him.

Liam takes his time coming back down, turning his face into Harry’s leg where he’s kneeling by Liam’s head. “That was so incredible, Harry. I didn’t know I could do that to myself,” he pants into his skin.

“I know, babe. But you don’t have to anymore. I’ll take care of this now,” Harry promises, stroking a hand through Liam’s damp hair.

He’s considering heading to the toilet to rub one out quickly and return before Liam’s up and dressed, so he can spend some more time with him naked and exposed and so, so open. But instead Liam smiles dopily, beautifully up at him, eyes darting to Harry’s purpling cock. “Will – will you wank off for me?” Liam asks, trying to sound confident, but Harry can detect the shyness underneath – the uncertainty.

“Yeah,” Harry gasps, agreeing easily. “You want to see what you do to me, baby?”

Liam wets his bottom lip and nods, not moving from his position on his back, loose fucked-out limbs sprawled everywhere.

Harry takes himself in hand, stroking the way he loves: thumb and middle finger clenching in a tight ring as he runs them base to tip, squeezing out the drops of precum and letting Liam watch raptly as they glisten and look like they’ll fall before Harry catches them with his fingers and wipes them back down his shaft.

Between finally touching himself after being hard as nails all day, and Liam’s angelic face centimetres from his bare cock for the first time in months, looking like he's fucking _ravenous_ for it, it’s not long before he's ready to come. He’s preparing to turn and release on the floor next to Liam – but he gasps, eyes shooting open when Liam pushes forward, takes the tip of Harry’s cock between his slack lips and sucks once, and Harry comes into his mouth in long, milky, rapturous waves of pleasure, head thrown back and groaning.

Liam pulls back when he’s done, stubborn pout to his mouth as Harry looks down, unable to believe what just happened.

“S’mine,” he states, matter of fact, swallowing and licking his lips. Harry just gapes like a fucking muppet. He sort of guessed Liam had as big of a spunk kink as him, but he didn’t realise he was so possessive about it.

“Yeah, Liam, yours,” he agrees wholeheartedly, collapsing down next to him on his side and pressing his mouth to Liam’s. 

He licks the taste out of Liam’s mouth until his lips are numb and bruised, and he has to shift to stop his aching hip pressing into the floor. They kiss for so long that Liam’s almost ready to go again, Harry having to move his hips back to stop Liam rocking into them. He eventually pulls back and takes Liam’s hand in his, linking their fingers over his hip. 

They stare at each other. Harry taking in every curve, laugh line, and beautiful blemish on Liam’s skin until they’re _burned_ behind his eyelids. Liam’s gaze keeps shooting down to look at Harry’s chest and hips, eyes dancing over the ink on his skin and Harry shivers under it, as if it were his fingers doing the tracing.

“You like looking at my tats,” Harry whispers, delighted and awed, hazy from seeing nothing in front of him but Liam’s face and body, skin luminous in the moonlight filtering through the window.

“Yeah,” Liam whispers back. “They’re pretty.”

“Pretty?” Harry smiles and rubs his thumb over Liam’s knuckles.

“Yes,” Liam says adamantly. “They look pretty on you. Everything looks more beautiful on you.”

Harry’s eyes start to sting, and he presses his lips to Liam’s forehead until he blinks the wetness back. “I think you’re the only thing that makes me beautiful.”

Liam lifts up to take his mouth, fingers combing through Harry’s hair and catching the tangles, working them free then soothing the sting with his lips. He eventually pulls back to stare again, his thumbs brushing against Harry’s damp eyelashes.

They lie that way; naked, fingers intertwined, foreheads together so they’re breathing the same air, until the sun finds them in the morning.

 

When Harry was 24, he fell in love.

He knew it was forever.

 

“You can’t keep pushing me against walls, Harry, we have to work!” Liam moans as Harry bites down on his neck, rucking his shirt up and moving greedy, grasping hands over his stomach and back.

“Well then you can’t keep walking around in these tights shirts, with your face… fuck Liam, your _face_!” Harry snogs him furiously, until Liam’s breathless and no longer complaining that Harry dragged him into an empty room while Louis recorded his vocals, and mauled him. Again.

The last few weeks have been a blur of desperate kisses, and laughter, and sneaking around, and talking on their phones so late into the night that Harry’s voice is breaking and making his singing sound worryingly raspy, even for him.

The last weeks have been Liam, Liam, Liam. Liam everywhere. Liam on him, Liam with him, Liam winding his way back inside his body until Harry doesn’t know if it’s possible to ever untangle him, and he’s _crazy_ with how good he feels all the time.

Zayn looks at them with unsubtle raised eyebrows and loud laughter when Harry drags Liam from the room. When Liam watches Harry recording, smitten and adoring and purposely giving him eyes that he knows make Harry jump on him immediately after. When Harry walks in in the morning with fingerprints embedded in his skin, smile plastered to his face, hair finger-wrecked, his whole body yelling, ‘Liam was here’. 

They’ve done nothing more than kiss and touch (grope frantically) since the party. Instead they talk – properly, about what happened and what they want to happen. They also talk about what they like in bed; demonstrating on heated, humid, breathless nights until Liam almost certainly knows how to give Harry a better hand job than he can manage himself. 

Then when the talking gets too much, they mess around; rubbing off on each other like teenagers and ruining pair after pair of perfectly good underpants in the process.

Harry’s taken to reading out loud from his books now, at least as long as they can both handle it without jumping on each other and going to town. One day he wakes up and finds Liam’s marked pages of his own that he finds interesting in the night, and Harry smiles so wide it’s painful, and kisses Liam awake.

He sends constant emails to Liam, describing the things he wants to do to him, wants to try. Sends links to porn that Liam refuses to watch on his own, only caving when Harry sits him between his thighs at night and hits the space bar of his laptop, rutting up against Liam’s arse as he watches. Liam always ends up sticking a hand into his pants and fucking his fist while Harry comes and comes behind him, whispering in his ear all the things he’ll do when it’s Liam.

They go to dinner and the pub on a Sunday and watch movies curled together on the sofa. At night, they sleep next to each other until Harry feels cold without Liam there, like his subconscious knows something is missing. 

He’d fallen past the point of no return a long time ago, but this is a whole new level of obsession. Like he needs Liam to _breathe_. 

He hopes like hell that Liam feels the same. In fact, he’s betting on it. That why he’s currently arching his stomach as discreetly as he can and trying to think up another excuse for why he hasn’t let Liam lift up his shirt for two days.

“Mmm, Harry really, we have to stop,” Liam moans. “You keep giving me hickeys in the middle of the day and everyone laughs at me.”

“They’re just jealous,” Harry says, sucking at his jawline.

Liam laughs breathlessly. “Harry, we have to go back. Come on, it’s only two hours until we can go home.”

“Home?” Harry freezes, lips pressed to Liam’s ear, wanting desperately for that not have been a slip of the tongue.

Liam nods, pressing their foreheads together. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, baby, I love you,” Harry dives back into his mouth. Liam lets Harry shove into him and kisses back just as passionately. “Just let me play with your winkie for a bit,” Harry pouts, tugging at the button on Liam’s jeans, but Liam laughs and bats his hands away.

“Don’t be an idiot! Come on, you can hold on till tonight. You humped my hip at lunch.”

Harry whines, but lets Liam take his hand and lead him back to the studio.

There’s a commotion when they get there. Louis has finished recording, and the guys are crowded round in a circle, all their attention on whoever’s in the middle of it. 

Zayn breaks away first to shoot him a look, and Harry can see something’s wrong. He feels his stomach turn, and knows he’s not going to like what happens next.

Niall moves aside, and Harry sees Chris standing there; tall and golden and smug as shit.

“Hey, honey, surprise!”

Liam drops his hand quickly. 

The bottom of Harry’s whole world drops out.

 

When Harry was three, his mummy told him it was nice to share.

At Nursery School he would play with a red fire engine that he loved, pushing it around the carpet and making loud noises.

One day, another little girl stole the engine from him, said it was her turn. The teacher came over, smelling of milk and honey and cuddles when he missed his mummy, and told the little girl she had to give Harry the toy back.

As he grew up, most people decided Harry, with his soft curls and cheeky, happy smile, should have the things he loved.

Harry never did learn to share.

 

Harry’s sitting alone in the dark, considering how badly Zayn would beat his arse if he went out and got drunk right now. He lights another cigarette and inhales deeply. 

Probably hospital worthy.

After Liam had hugged Chris hello, he spent 15 minutes trying to catch Harry’s eye and give him surreptitious hand squeezes and nudges with his shoulder. Harry avoided it completely, right up until they both left to get dinner at Liam’s request.

Zayn wanted to come home with him, but he declined. He needed time alone. To think. To seethe in private. To prepare himself for when the inevitable happened, so he didn’t just crumble to the ground or lose his shit again. Zayn asked him to at least come and have dinner with him and Perrie since it was curry night – but Harry knew he wanted to watch him. Wanted to make sure he didn’t do something stupid. 

So he’d patiently listened to Zayn’s sensible advice about not letting his feelings for Liam dictate the control he had on his life, and Harry nodded and agreed that his personal happiness, wellbeing, and sobriety were not contingent on Liam’s love, and he was fine to go home alone, thank you. 

He was spouting bullshit and they both knew it. 

Harry’s fucked up and dependant and he _needs_ Liam. 

And he’s hurt. More so than when Liam left the first time. Because this time he _tried_. Put everything in that he wanted to get out, and he saw what he could have, and having it ripped away this time is gutting. He feels like his guts have been ripped out and he needs to fill it with _something._

Alcohol seems like a good choice. And sitting here in the dark, ignoring his buzzing phone, thinking about all the nice ways Liam’s going to let him down; all the nice things he’s going to say about loyalty and normalcy and being with someone who’s not fucked in the head when Harry finally works up the balls to hear him out, the idea’s starting to look better and better.

The rain patters against the windows and Harry turns on the TV to tune it out, mindlessly letting canned laughter and adverts wash over him until he feels numb. The longer he sits, the more the desire to drink builds, and he digs his fingers into his jeans and turns the volume up until each wave of unbearable craving passes. 

He’s not going to be that guy. Not going to do that to Zayn after all he’s done to help. Not to Liam after all he’s promised him, regardless of whether he leaves him broken and alone. And he’s not going to do that to himself after all the hard work he’s put in, finally feeling comfortable in his skin after so long.

He chains another two cigarettes and eventually drifts off, head limp on the back of the sofa.

He’s awoken by the doorbell. 

He ignores it at first, but then the tapping starts and Harry knows whoever’s out there is getting soaked to the skin. He decides to do the polite thing and open the door, preparing himself for the worst.

Liam’s on the other side when he swings the door open, shivering in wet jeans and a see-through white t-shirt, puppy eyes wide and worried.

“Hi.” 

Harry caves. He can’t not.

“Get in here before you catch fucking pneumonia, Liam, Christ.” He pulls him into the living room, quickly strips him of his wet shirt, and stands him next to the radiator. 

Harry goes to the linen cupboard for a towel and when he gets back Liam’s down to his boxers, shivering and pressing himself against the heat. Harry ignores the lines of his body, the bulge of his dick in his damp, clingy underwear, his beautiful face, anxious and fretting. He throws the towel around his shoulders, takes off his own shirt and pulls Liam into his arms, rubbing his skin until he warms him up with his body heat.

Liam’s arms wind around his middle and he buries his face in Harry’s neck. Harry tries not to read anything into it, just holds still while Liam rubs the small of his back and hums against his skin, breathes hot and humid and purrs like a fucking kitten. He can’t ignore it anymore when Liam catches his lips on his shoulder, kissing up to the base of his ear, and he pushes him back gently until they’re eye to eye.

“What is this, Liam?” he asks, voice deep and cut.

Liam crinkles his forehead in confusion. “What do you mean, what is this? This is me hugging my boyfriend.”

A growl rumbles from Harry’s throat. He pushes his hair back with a frustrated finger comb. “Look, don’t dick around with me, okay? If this is goodbye sex, then tell me now. It can’t be like last time, when I didn’t know until I was left alone and fucked in the morning.”

“Are you serious?” Liam pulls back angrily. “You think I’m here to break up with you? After the last three weeks we’ve spent together.”

“I don’t know, Liam! Chris flew out to see you, clearly under the impression that everything between you is hunky fucking dory. I mean, why haven’t you broken up with him already? Is it because you don’t trust me yet – is he your backup plan?”

“No!” Liam shouts, vibrating with anger. “I just didn’t want to do it over the phone, it’s cruel. I was going to fly out and end it with him when we had a break from work, and you finally stopped groping me for _five minutes_. How can you think I’d do that to you? To BOTH of you. Is that really what you think of me?” 

Harry licks his bitten swollen lips and shakes his hair out, looking at the wall behind Liam. “I’m not sure! You left me when Chris showed up today – just cut me off and went away with him. What was I supposed to think?”

“Hey, I tried to get your attention in that room, but you shut me out and left! And I’ve been calling you all fucking evening – answer your phone dick-head! How can you think I don’t want to be with you? All the talking we’ve been doing and the plans we’ve been making, what did you think that was? Did you think, what, I was talking out my arse, stringing you along, lying my balls off? Thanks a lot, Harry!” Liam pulls away, and Harry doesn’t how this has all gone to cock so fast, but he knows it’s his fault again.

“You wanted me to trust you – _begged_ me to trust you – and I finally do, Harry. You proved yourself to me with all the progress you’ve made and the way you’ve been treating me. I trusted you today when I saw Chris and went to talk to him, knowing you wouldn’t go out and get drunk, or high, or mean, or god forbid, laid! And I was obviously right, too, cause here you are just throwing a strop in the dark like a teenager.” Harry can’t deny that accusation, because that’s kind of exactly how he’s been acting all night. Like a 14 year old throwing a tantrum cause he can’t have what he wants.

“I trust you. But you have to trust me too, Harry,” he says, quiet and disappointed. And fuck if Liam’s right and Harry doesn’t feel like the biggest tosser to walk the planet.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Harry grabs for Liam, managing to pull him back in despite Liam resisting and trying to break free. “I’m so, so sorry, baby.”

He guides them to the sofa so they can sit down, taking Liam’s hands in his and bringing them to his mouth, kissing his knuckles fervently.

“I just… saw you with Chris and I got jealous. And stupid. And I remembered when you left me before. But mostly I remembered that it was all my fault, and if you choose him over me – if you decide we’re too much of a risk – that’s on me too. And it sucks, Liam, okay? It sucks that I fucked us up so much that I wouldn’t even blame you if you left me.” He buries his face in the palms of Liam’s hands so he can’t see how raw and exposed he feels. 

Liam bends to press his nose into his tangled hair. “Harry, you have to let that stuff go. If we’re going to move on – if we’re going to have _any_ kind of normal relationship – you have to stop punishing yourself for your mistakes. I’ve forgiven you. You have to do the same thing.”

Liam takes the sides of Harry’s face in his hands and lifts him to meet his eyes. “I broke up with Chris tonight. And I did it because he wasn’t right for me, and he deserved better than someone who wasn’t in love with him. I need you to know that those were the reasons because what I say next is so separate from that. It has nothing to do with Chris or anything that happened between us, alright?”

Harry nods, letting Liam shuffle closer until he’s almost on his lap, hands still on Harry’s face, forcing him to look at him.

“I am so in love with you, Harry Styles. I’m in love with every fucked up, frustrating, fragile thing about you. I loved you when we were friends. I loved you when you were going through an awful time and acting vile, and I let you use me in case it made you feel just a _fraction_ better. I loved you when you were strong and brave and got yourself together. And I love you _so damn much_ now that you’re the man I always knew you could be. I love that you tried so hard to be with me. I love that I know you love me. I just… love you,” he shrugs. “A lot.”

Harry wants to say something sweet and erudite and profound back. But instead he goes out of his _mind_. He dives on Liam, pressing his body back into the armrest and climbing up him; working his way into his mouth, fingers digging into his damp hair, chest sliding against Liam’s soft skin. He feels like he’s been given everything he ever wanted, needed, was _desperate_ to have, and he can’t control his body’s reaction to it.

Liam kisses back just as hungry, grabbing and clenching at whatever he can, biting at his mouth. “Mmm, Harry, let’s go upstairs,” he whimpers between kisses, dragging Harry up with him.

Harry sees red at that, burning rush of arousal turning his bones to liquid, and they ping pong off walls and stumble up the stairs, tripping over each other’s feet, clutching at each other until they reach Harry’s bedroom.

Liam falls onto the bed, crawling up until his head hits the pillows, all lithe and long-limbed like a cat, and Harry stares at him, amazed and aroused and so, so in love as he unbelts his jeans and pulls them down, wincing slightly as they drag over his lower belly.

“Hurry up, Harry,” Liam huffs, pouty and eager, pushing his hips up in an obvious attempt to get Harry to stop looking at him and start _touching_ him. Liam’s desperation for him makes Harry feel like he’s on _fire_ , burning with how much he wants to take this boy that he loves more than anything he’s ever loved in his life and show him there’s nothing else out there for him. That no one will ever love him, want him, _need_ him more than Harry does, and if he walks away Harry will just cease to _exist_.

“S’okay baby, m’here,” he croons, words slurred with arousal, crawling naked and throbbing up between Liam’s knees.

He doesn’t give him any warning before diving between his thighs and taking him into his mouth, teasing over the head of his cock with laps of his tongue and sucking him down, deep throating him until Liam’s inside him as far as he can get. He fucks him into his mouth while Liam whimpers, pants, _begs_ – long fingers clinging sharp and insistent at Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in like he can’t get enough. 

Harry’s painfully aware that this is the first time he’s had Liam’s cock in his mouth and he’s half ashamed of himself, half wondering what the fuck was wrong with him, because Liam’s _delicious_ – dick hot and damp and salty-sweet, and Harry was wondering where that amazing smell Liam emits when he’s turned on came from and it’s _here_. Dark and sinful and getting stronger the more he bumps his hips against Harry’s face.

Liam begins to shout Harry’s name in rhythmic cries as he gets closer to the edge and Harry lets him fall out of his mouth with a wet _pop_. He pulls back so he can fall further between his legs, tip of his index finger glancing over the exposed pink of Liam’s hole before he finally presses his face against him, eating Liam out like he’s been dreaming about for months.

His tongue runs sloppy circles around Liam’s twitching hole, teasing the delicate wrinkles of flesh until he's loose and pliant and Harry can slide inside easily, fucking him open soft and gentle. Liam’s hands tangle in his hair, tugging sharply, pleading for him to either make him come or stop.

Harry needs to be inside Liam – needs them to come at the same time – so he pulls back and slides up his body, hovering over him, kissing into his mouth, dick dripping onto his hot skin. Before Harry can comprehend what’s happening, Liam wraps his legs around his waist and flips him, Harry letting out an embarrassing squeak. 

Liam giggles and presses his knees on the bed either side of Harry, sitting up. “Hi,” he smiles, and it’s so adorable, Harry might die from it.

“Hi,” he pants, dizzy with surprise and love and plain _want_. “What are you up to, angel?”

Liam sits back on Harry’s thighs; curious, playful fingers tracing over all his ink from his shoulders down, until he meets the fresh, pitch-black writing still blushing red around the edges, half-hidden by his hard cock.

“Harry, what’s this?” he asks, awed and curious and fired up.

“Oh, um, it was a present,” he shrugs, anxious, fretful what Liam will think. “I got it for you two days ago. S'why I wouldn’t let you take my boxers off.”

Liam stares wide-eyed, and runs the delicate tip of a finger over the cursive text just above his pubes that reads, ‘Liam’s’

“I wanted you to be able to see it when you suck me. So you remember I’m yours,” he explains, thumb reaching up to rub over Liam’s damp bottom lip.

Liam’s eyes glaze over and he opens his mouth, nipping at Harry’s thumb until he gathers himself. “You’re amazing, Harry,” he chokes out, then lunges forward to fumble in the draw for the lube. 

He grabs it and then dives down to swallow Harry, eyes open and trailing reverently over the tattoo. Harry’s so distracted by the feel of Liam’s fucking incredible mouth on him again, that it takes him a minute to notice that his hands are busy behind him, stretching and slicking for Harry’s cock.

As soon as he realises he pulls Liam off his dick, winding desperate fingers with his and tugging, until Liam crawls up and positions himself over Harry.

The wet tip of his cock kissing Liam’s hole sparks something in Harry’s mind, and he tilts his neck off the pillow, holding Liam’s hips in place. “Wait, wait, do you want…?” he gestures to where they’re about to be joined with his head.

Liam shakes his head emphatically, twisting his hips until Harry’s hands drop, and sinks down onto him. “Just you, Harry, only you. It’s only _ever_ been you.”

Harry grunts, loud and primal, whole lower body jumping at Liam’s words. “Fuck! Me too, Liam. It’s only – me too.” 

When he slips inside Liam again, it feels like coming home. It feels like everything he's been waiting for culminating into one sublime moment, and he turns his head to etch it into Liam’s forearm with his teeth and lips.

Liam makes tiny bounces until Harry’s deep inside and then circles his hips, long and sensuous and driving Harry out of his fucking brain. He lets Harry reach up and stick more fingers in his mouth, sucking them, all show and cheek, and Harry giggles at him. It makes Liam shake on his dick; causing them both to moan in pleasure, and Harry doesn’t think he ever knew sex could feel this joyful and easy.

“Stop it, I’m trying to work,” Liam presses his lips together, trying not to laugh, focussing on balancing on Harry’s dick and bearing down. 

He finally begins to move, grabbing the headboard behind Harry to steady himself. It causes his nipples come into reach of Harry’s mouth, and he flicks and teases them, listening to Liam cry out and speed up, wet squelching noises piercing the room like a symphony of perfect sex. Harry’s mouth starts running again, a litany of, “You’re so beautiful, you’re so perfect, you’re so good, love your arse, love you,” until Liam’s shouting loud enough to drown him out.

Liam comes first, untamed and beautiful, riding the shit out of Harry like some kind of avenging Greek god. With every forward thrust he hits the tender skin of Harry’s healing tat, and it makes Harry jerk and spasm out of control, the bite of pain with the intense pleasure sending him over the edge. 

He comes with harsh curses of, “Oh fuck, baby, oh _fuck_ , sweetheart,” into Liam’s damp neck as he fills him full of spunk once again, feeling possessive and desperate and _right._

Liam collapses down on top of him, sweaty skin sliding against sweaty skin, biting kisses into Harry’s chest as Harry wraps his shaking body in his arms.

They lie together getting their breath back, Liam’s fingers dancing over Harry like he can’t get enough of him, returning time and time again to the tattoo on his stomach. “Can’t believe you did this for me,” he whispers, soft lips at Harry’s ear.

“Do anything for you.” Harry turns and kisses the tip of his nose, grinning at Liam’s crinkle-eyed smile. “I’m so thankful you chose me,” he stares, amazed.

Liam flings a leg over Harry’s hip to drag him back in. “Harry, I’ve been in love with you since I was 18, I didn’t _have_ another choice.”

“What?” He doesn’t know if he actually heard that, or if he passed-out in a gutter six months ago and this has all been an elaborate hallucination.

Liam kisses him, wet and blushing. “You heard me, Harry. Let’s not make a big thing of it, yeah?”

“Fuck Liam, I love you,” he growls, passionate and insistent, grabbing a handful of Liam’s hair and forcing him to look into his eyes. 

“It’s about time. Been waiting ages.” Liam sticks his tongue out, effectively breaking the moment.

Harry slaps a hand down on his bum. “Cheeky tart.”

“ _Your_ cheeky tart.”

Harry grins and nips at his nose. “S’what it says on my skin, Puppy. This is it yeah?” he asks, nervously. “I mean, it is for me, but you too, right?”

“Of course, Harry. Is it really not obvious that this is what I’ve been waiting for? Come on, I broke up with my boyfriend tonight and told you I love you, so yeah, this is it for me. And if you still don’t get that, then maybe I need to start telling you more, you oblivious, emotionally retarded, unhelpfully beautiful, moron.” Liam snogs the mock offended look Harry shoots him off his face, laughing and rolling over so he's lying back on top of him. “I love you, Harry. And this is forever for me. Whether you like it or not this time.” He pulls back and Harry can see how serious he is.

“Move in with me,” Harry blurts out before he can stop himself, desperate and eager, realising as soon as he’s said it that it’s the best idea he’s ever had.

Liam barks out a loud laugh. “Harry, we’ve been together five minutes. And we’re both obviously _useless_ at relationships, especially with each other. Don’t you think we should take it slow?”

 _No, no, absolutely not, no,_ is the answer to that question. 

Instead he says, “Actually, if you count from when we first fucked, we’ve been together a year.”

“Harry, if I count from there, then I have to include a lot of other stuff that you’re going to want me to forget if you ever want a blowjob again,” Liam reminds him, fingers latching threateningly onto a nipple.

“No, no, no, you’re right, only for tonight. We only count from an hour ago when we came in this room!” he exclaims hastily, linking his arms behind Liam’s back and flipping them so he’s on top of Liam’s giggling body. He presses messy kisses to his throat, chest and face, both of them laughing as Liam half-heartedly tries to fend him off.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Clean slate,” Liam says, wrinkling his nose at Harry bringing his hand to his mouth to nibble at his wrist.

Harry smiles down at him, looking at his whole world – his whole fucking _future_ – in front of him, and it’s bright and happy and beautiful. “Yeah, clean slate. I like that.” 

He kisses at Liam’s palm, patiently waiting for sixty whole seconds.

“ _Now_ will you move in with me? I’ll buy you a puppy.”

Liam laughs and hauls him down, not letting him up again for the rest of the night.

 

Harry wakes up to the sounds of pans crashing and cupboards slamming. Fortunately, this time his head isn’t pounding, his eye isn’t throbbing and the only thing he can taste in his mouth is Liam. 

He lets out a groan and opens a bleary eye, noticing it’s gone 10:30 and the sun’s blazing through the window where Liam’s opened the bloody curtains.

He’s an early riser, his boyfriend. Always manages to get up, workout, shower and walk the dogs while Harry’s dead to the world. He usually comes up after and wakes Harry, climbing over him and kissing up and down his back, snuffling into Harry’s hair while he grumbles and tries to bury his face further into the pillows. When that doesn’t work, he sends the dogs in to jump all over him, barking excitedly in his ear and head-butting him until he begrudgingly gets up.

He hasn’t been in this morning though, which is strange. Harry doubts he’s managed to do anything to upset Liam between falling asleep last night and waking up now, unless he, like, said someone else’s name in his sleep. But he doubts that since Liam’s the sleep talker, not him. He can’t count the number of times he’s been woken by the sounds of Liam talking total random bollocks in the night. 

Since he can’t be sure he’s not somehow fucked up while remaining unconscious, he rolls out of bed, knowing if Liam’s already pissed at him it’ll be better not to be late for breakfast too. That always makes Liam grumpy. Something about him slaving away in the kitchen while Harry’s lazy arse lingers in bed. 

He mooches down the stairs, tripping over Liam’s trainers at the bottom and kicking them aside with a quiet curse. The absolute worst thing about Liam is that he’s a total slob. But the first time he’d fallen over Liam’s carelessly discarded clothes and yelled at him for leaving his crap everywhere, it led to Liam stropping off and not letting Harry so much as come near him for two days, so now he just trips and bears it. 

That way, he gets to continue to be allowed to touch him, talk to him, and sleep in his own damn bed at night.

He once told all this Zayn, who assured him those things were normal in a relationship, and in fact meant they were shockingly ordinary. Harry had smirked and felt seriously proud of himself. 

The three months Liam and Harry have been official have been incredible, and he thinks he’s doing a pretty decent job of not screwing it up. Or at least fixing it when he does.

He wanders into the kitchen and finds Liam at the stove, frying pan on the back burner while he looks intently at the phone in his hands. 

“Hi, baby, baby, baby” he croons, stumbling towards him for a kiss. 

Liam jumps a mile, flicking the phone off, eyes shooting up wide and nervous. “Morning!”

Before Harry has a chance to ask what’s wrong, the dogs scamper over from where they’re scarfing down breakfast, paws scratching on the floor as they race to beat each other to his legs. Harry’s quickly distracted by them barking and jumping up his back and side.

“Ahh, down, down!” he wails, laughing roughly and letting them muscle him back against the counter. 

Loki licks at his hand and he scratches behind his ears, before squatting down to let the golden retriever puppies jump up into his arms so he can cuddle them into his chest. Natasha and Safa only reach Harry’s knees on their hind legs and Harry doesn’t like them to feel left out. Mostly because Loki likes to show them who’s boss; always beating them to food and attention, roughhousing with them until they whimper and submit. He knows it will only last a few more months until they grow and realise they can kick his ass, but right now they’re the new babies in their family and he wants to make sure they fit in. 

That’s his excuse, anyway. Liam just thinks he spoils them.

Harry lets them go with a final pat and slides behind Liam, wrapping his arms around his waist where he’s started cooking again, one eye still on the phone beside him. “Morning, buggerlugs. Everything okay?” he asks warily.

There’s no doubt Liam’s hiding something from him. As much as he loves Liam, after three months of basically living together, Harry _knows_ he can be a sneaky little fuck – especially when he wants his own way. 

He once moved a whole home gym into Harry’s spare room while he was out to lunch with Gemma. Then when Harry came home, saw it and went berserk, he just shrugged. Told him if he didn’t like it he should get rid of it himself, knowing Harry was far, far too lazy to do any such thing. 

Subsequently, Harry’s on permanent alert for Liam’s devious schemes.

“Yeah, yes, of course, did you sleep well?” he says, changing the subject and forcing a smile. He turns and pulls Harry in by the front of his shirt, snogging the shit out of him, morning breath and all. 

Harry knows Liam’s distraction methods back to front by now. They usually involve nakedness and orgasms, though, so he willingly ignores what’s happening with the phone in favour of dragging Liam in and slipping his tongue against his. 

The kiss goes on for a while, wet and warm and lazy in the late morning air, before Liam pulls back, probably convinced Harry’s forgotten he’s acting shifty. “Mmm, breakfast, Harry. You need a decent meal, you look drained.”

“Yeah, well someone woke me up with their mouth at 2AM and then wore me out,” he hums against Liam’s swollen lips.

Liam blushes bright pink and ducks his head. Harry’s still amazed that after three months of non-stop shagging – after getting to know every intimate, buried secret, every sensitive curve and crevice of each other’s body – he still gets shy. 

He tries to nuzzle into Liam’s neck but he pushes him away, turning to slide banana pancakes and bacon on a plate and pointing at the table. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Harry smirks and reaches down to cup Liam’s hardening dick through his boxers, ducking when Liam spins around and slaps him with a tea towel.

“Sit, Harry!” He uses the same voice he does with the dogs and Harry giggles, dancing impishly to the table and running his hands through his hair. It’s always been a tousled mess in the mornings, but now after Liam’s done with it at night he usually wakes up looking like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Liam brings the plate over with a jug of syrup and a bowl of fruit, dropping them down in front of him. “Try and eat half the fruit before the pancakes, please,” he warns Harry sternly, pouring fresh orange juice into a glass. “Do you want tea as well?” 

“Maybe after.” Harry leans over and kisses the sharp cut of Liam’s hip, and he ruffles his curls before walking back to get his own food.

As soon as Liam moves away, the dogs crowd around Harry, sitting at his feet and begging, same as they do every morning. Loki rests his head on Harry’s knee and whimpers the way he knows makes him cave every time. Harry checks Liam’s back’s still turned and rips a piece of bacon up, feeding half to Loki and dropping the rest to Tash and Safa, smiling as they scoff it down like they’ve never seen food before.

They’re finished chewing by the time Liam walks back to the table, so he doesn’t know how Liam doesn’t even need to look up before telling him off. “Harry, stop giving them bacon.”

Loki hasn’t moved his head and Harry squeezes his face between his palms. “I can’t help it! Look at that face.”

“Well try, they’ve just eaten. You’re going to make them fat and greedy,” Liam huffs, plonking down next to him.

He tilts Loki’s face to show Liam. “This is the face you give me, you know? I don’t say no when _you_ do it, either.”

“Harry, let the dog go and eat your breakfast before I put you both out in the garden.” Liam stabs at a strawberry, brow furrowed, mind obviously somewhere else.

Harry drops Loki’s face and shoos him away with a raised eyebrow. He grabs his juice and shifts in his chair, feeling the wood squeak under his weight, “If you were having a bugger of a morning, you should have come and woke me. I would have gotten up.” 

“Who said I’ve been having a bad morning, Harry? I told you, everything’s fine,” Liam snaps.

“Okay, sorry. My mistake. What have you been doing that’s put you in such a fantastic mood?” Harry asks sarcastically, popping two grapes and a slice of kiwi in his mouth then smothering his pancakes in syrup. 

“Not much. Went for a run, took a shower… talked to Jeremy,” Liam says hurriedly, sliding the plate out from under Harry and replacing it with the fruit bowl. 

Harry looks sadly at the pancakes being taken away. Then what Liam just said registers, and he looks up, eyes narrowed warily. “Why is the _Vice President_ of our PR firm calling before ten in the morning on our week off?” 

“No reason, don’t worry. Just something needed to be sorted, but they can take care of it. Don’t worry about it.” 

Harry’s worried.

“Did he want to speak to me, too? Where’s my phone?” He’s up and stepping back from the table but Liam catches him by the hand, jerking him back.

“No!” he shouts, and Harry double takes in shock. “I mean, no, just – I put your phone on charge, so leave it for a while. And he didn’t even want to speak to you, so forget it. And come and eat your breakfast that I just spent an hour making while you slept like the dead, Harry, for Christ sake!” 

“Ok, Liam, sorry,” he sits down carefully, arms raised in surrender. This morning is already bonkers and he’s been awake for ten minutes.

Liam goes back to his breakfast like that wasn’t remotely weird, and Harry’s eyes widen in disbelief. He watches amused as Liam picks at his pancakes, all twitchy and nervous, shooting worried glances at his phone where it’s vibrating insistently on the counter as if _that_ will be the thing that Harry finds suspicious.

“You don’t want to get that?” he finally asks, tilting his head at the phone.

Liam glares at him petulantly. “No, it’s just Zayn being a dick. He's been doing it all morning.”

“Yeah, what’s he on about this ti –” 

The sound of the newspaper clattering through the letterbox makes Liam sit up like a meerkat, and Harry barely hears the thud hitting the ground before Liam’s out of his chair, yelling, “Paper’s here!” and dashing out the room.

Harry watches him go, bewildered.

What in the name of fuck?

He hears rustling paper and Liam’s despairing whine of, “ _Ohhhh shit_ ,” and realises this is not going to be a fun surprise. More the, ‘I booked you in for a root canal,’ kind, rather than the, ‘Come upstairs, I’m covered in trifle and want you to lick it off,’ kind. Both of which Liam had surprised him with this month.

Harry gets up and follows Liam into the front room, dogs trailing behind him as he moves stealthily up behind Liam’s turned back and peers casually over his shoulder. “What you got there?” 

Liam yelps and jumps a fucking mile, spinning around and scrunching the paper he was looking at behind his back. “Fuck, Harry!” He smacks him on the shoulder and shoves him back with a hand on his chest. “Don’t do that! I thought I told you not to worry about it. Will you go and finish breakfast, please?”

Harry takes Liam in – all darting eyes and distressed – and immediately feels uneasy. “No, I don’t want my fucking breakfast, Liam, tell me what you’re hiding from me.” 

He’s irritated that Liam’s keeping secrets from him, but he’s more annoyed that he’s upset and not letting Harry help. Taking care of Liam is what Harry’s best at, and if Liam won’t let him anymore then there’s a chance Harry might do something that makes Zayn punch him again. 

“What’s in the paper?” he says gruffly, anxiety turning him bad-tempered and irrational as always.

Liam blows out a defeated sigh and hands the paper to him, open on the page he was worrying over. “Fine, here. But I was just trying to protect you, alright? 

Harry grabs the paper and turns it the right way up, assaulted by a double-page colour photo of himself and Liam snogging up against his Land Rover in the car park of their local Waitrose yesterday. 

They’d just finished food shopping and Liam had been loading all the bags in the back while Harry dicked about on his phone, promising to help in a second. By the time he was done shooting a text off to Nick, Liam had returned the trolley and was glaring at him huffily. Harry had chased him around the car apologising, catching Liam at the passenger door and laughing into his mouth as he kissed him; Liam pouting, but giving in easily once Harry slipped his tongue inside his mouth.

There are a few smaller shots of them shopping and Harry chasing Liam – high resolution and close. Harry’s surprised he hadn’t known someone was there, he’s usually able to sense when he’s being photographed now. Can feel it in his bones. The fact that he'd missed it is playing riot with Harry’s nerves, making his stomach roil and churn like his body wants to expel poison.

“I knew you’d freak out. Please don’t be angry with me,” Liam frets, picking at the tight knot on the front of his sweats that never comes loose.

Harry blinks and looks up, trying to comprehend what Liam’s saying. “Huh, what? Liam, why would I be angry with _you_? And you’re really bad at lying to me, by the way. I’d say work on it, but I like that you can’t hide things from me,” he adds as an afterthought, distracted by the photos again.

“You’re really not upset that I hid this from you?” Liam’s still tiptoeing around him carefully, voice wary and surprised. 

Harry finally catches on that Liam thought he would blame him. Like Liam was the one that initiated the kiss. Like Liam called the paps. Like Liam is the one responsible for all of Harry’s troubles, and he feels a twist of shame because he spent three years making Liam feel that way, and it’s impossible to erase it in three short months.

Harry tosses the paper on the sofa and grabs Liam by the back of the neck, kissing him soft and apologetic. “Liam, this isn’t your fault. If I was going to go mental it would be because some fucking scum-bag is talking about you like you’re not the _best_ thing that ever happened to me. Then I’d shout for an hour about how I’m going to hunt them down and punch the shit out of them.” 

“Really?” Liam tilts his head and smiles softly. 

Harry’s lips curl and he presses his nose against Liam’s cheek. “Yes, really. All I want to do when this stuff happens now, is find you and talk to you and have you on my side being fucking furious with me. I was under the impression that was one of the benefits of being in a relationship.”

“I love you,” Liam bumps their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting crazy this morning, I should have had faith in you.”

“No big deal,” Harry says lightly. 

Liam falls against him, breathing out in relief, and Harry forces down the bubble of resentment rising in his throat, trying not to let Liam sense that he actually doesn’t feel all that okay.

There’s been something building up inside him for months – ever since he realised Liam was _his_ to take care of. He’s become hyper aware that he can control the way he treats Liam, but everyone else is another matter entirely. And now Liam’s been violated and he couldn’t protect him – couldn’t protect _them_ – and he’s sick with guilt and anger.

Harry tries to unclench his jaw and kiss Liam, sweet and cosy. He thinks he doing a decent job because Liam starts to run his fingers down to his hips, playing with the hemline of his boxers.

“Hey, come upstairs with me,” he whispers shyly.

Normally the offer would be impossible to resist. Who’s he kidding? Normally he would just throw Liam onto the nearest flat surface. But he’s too agitated to make love right now, so he just squeezes Liam’s hand gently. “We should finish breakfast. You always get moody when I don’t eat what you make.”

“No, I want to go upstairs,” Liam says firmly and doesn’t give Harry a chance to argue before he’s tugging his hand and pulling him in the direction of the stairs.

Harry follows Liam to the bedroom, anticipation prickling through the silence. He closes the door behind them, shutting out the dogs snuffling around, trying to come in and play. Catching Liam by the waist, he bends to start pressing unfocused kisses along the back of his neck and shoulders, but Liam ducks down and moves out of Harry’s reach.

“Oi.” Harry looks at Liam questioningly, trying to pull him back in. Liam walks them to the bed, Harry’s arms linked over his stomach, pushing him to sit on the edge then standing between his thighs.

“Wait here,” he tugs his hair sharply and kisses him on the forehead, stepping over to their wardrobe and leaving Harry confused and on edge.

“Liam, what are you doing?” he asks, voice sharper than he’d like.

Liam doesn’t answer him, just rummages around in the depths of their closet, venturing into the black hole at the back that Harry never sees but Liam seems to know like the back of his hand. “Close your eyes,” he calls out.

Harry sighs, frustrated. “No, Liam, y’know what, babe, I’m actually not in the mood for—” 

“Just do it, Harry!” Liam yells, losing patience, and Harry finds himself doing what he says just for a quiet life. He feels shitty enough without rounding out the day with a row.

Harry sits and waits for Liam long enough that he works himself up to being seriously stressed. The darkness from having his eyes closed is giving him too much opportunity to focus on the gnawing feeling in the pit of his gut, and to wonder why Liam’s being quiet and weird and has been gone for far too long, doing fuck knows what.

He picks his nails and breathes heavily through his nose, right leg bouncing impatiently. He's seconds away from getting up and going back downstairs, going for a walk, just going _away_ , when he smells Liam’s shower gel and feels the soft movement of air as he moves calmly in front of him.

“Okay, open them.”

Harry opens his eyes slowly, confused at Liam standing holding up two of his neckties and a blindfold.

“Are we going out?” he asks dumbly, blinking at the yellow and plaid ties. He doesn’t even try and understand the blindfold, which looks like a British Airways sleep mask from a complimentary first class travel kit.

“No, Harry,” Liam says patiently. “These are so you can tie me up. Or to the bed, whatever you want. The blindfold is in case you feel like using it.”

“Liam, I don’t – ” Harry’s shocked. They haven’t come close to exploring what Liam’s suggesting since they’ve been back together. They’ve done no more than dance around it, Harry content to let it lie because he was with _Liam_ , and if they never did any of that stuff again he’d still be incredibly satisfied and happy.

“You need this tonight, Harry. Don’t lie to me, I can tell.” Liam reaches forward to comb his fingers through Harry’s hair. He avoids eye contact and wets his lips the way that means he’s psyching himself up to say something and he’s not sure how Harry will react.

“Look, I know that lately you’ve been unsure of yourself. Unsure of whether or not you’re getting us right – loving me right. But Harry, you’re doing such a good job. Being such a good boyfriend. And the fact that you don’t realise that, means I’m being a bad one.”

“No, Liam, you’re not – I’m just – I’m –” Harry sighs. “I’m _so_ scared of losing you,” he chokes, terrified that putting it out into the universe will make it true. “Not just because of the things I do, but because of the things I can’t control. I’m so scared you’ll decide that all the stuff I come with – all the baggage, the press, my bad image – makes me not worth it.”

“Harry, you are _so_ worth it. And if this,” he flicks him lightly with the fabric, “will help you feel more secure, then I want to give it to you.” 

Harry smiles gratefully and tips forward to kiss Liam’s stomach. “Liam, you’re right, I do tiptoe around you because I’m trying to be careful. Because I’m trying to think before I speak and act nowadays. But it _will_ get easier for me, I promise. What you _don’t_ need to do, is offer me something you’re not ready for because you’re trying to force the issue.”

“I _am_ ready Harry!” Liam laughs. “This is something I _want_. I always have done, you know that. I’ve just been… I don’t know. Too nervous to bring it up. Usually, you’re the confident one. You’ve always pushed things between us and I liked that. I _miss_ that. And I keep expecting you to take me like before at some point, but instead you’ve been treating me like I’ll break if you so much as tell me to get on my knees.” 

It’s true. Harry has been afraid of pushing Liam. Maybe a little bit frightened of what it would awaken in himself if he did.

“But now I apparently _have_ to bring it up, because you _need_ this tonight, Harry. This paparazzi thing has got you frustrated and angry and out of control, and this is the one thing that’s always helped you. Always made you feel better. It’s what made you fall in love with me before anything else, Harry, and you know it. That I could calm you down by being the one thing in the world you were allowed to control.”

Harry stares at Liam for a minute. In awe. In love. In-fucking-fatuated. 

“You’re my whole life, you know that?”

Liam shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah, well, you’re mine too.”

Harry grabs Liam in his arms, head spinning from standing so quickly, and kisses him like mad. He slides the ties and blindfold out of Liam’s hand, throws the ties around his neck and the blindfold into a corner. He really doesn’t like the idea of not being able to see into Liam’s eyes – never has. Not even in the beginning when he was fumbling through this thing, cocking everything up. Seeing Liam enjoy what Harry does to him is what gets him off hardest, and he _needs_ to be able to look into his eyes.

“Get naked,” he tells Liam without breaking away from his lips. 

Liam tugs down his sweatpants, stepping out of them and pushing his hips forward, shamelessly letting Harry see that he’s naked and half hard underneath. He’s usually not this openly brazen. Harry’s realises Liam’s trying to work him up – spark something that makes Harry snap and put him in his place. 

Harry doesn’t need it. 

He’s already feeling _feral_. Like it’s a full moon and he’s about to be possessed by a rabid animal.

He steps forward, putting his hand in the middle of Liam’s chest and pushing him until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he plops down. He bounces slightly, staring up at him, awaiting instructions.

“Lie on you back, Liam. Head facing me.” Harry reclaims his roll easily, like slipping into a warm bath.

Liam flips over gracefully, wriggling, getting comfortable on his back. But Harry’s not planning on making this comfortable. “Shuffle up so your head’s over the end of the bed,” he orders. Liam blinks curiously for a second, enough for Harry warn, “ _Now_ , Puppy. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Liam inhales sharply. “Sorry, Harry.” 

He gets into position, head hanging centimetres away from where Harry’s cock is straining beneath his boxers, and Harry can feel his hot breath panting against him.

“What’s your safe word, angel?” he strokes the tips of his fingers over Liam’s cheek, making sure they do things right this time.

“Gotham,” Liam recites faithfully, and Harry’s washed with the rush of affection he always gets when he’s reminded what a geek he’s in love with.

“Say it and I’ll stop straight away, okay?” 

Liam nods upside down, hair swaying with the movement.

Harry slides down his boxers, cock catching on the elastic, and he grabs it at the base, jacking perfunctorily a couple of times. Liam’s breath is shaky from being so worked up and Harry shushes him soothingly while he tilts forwards, guiding his cock to his mouth. “Open your mouth, love.” Harry’s dick hits his lips, smearing a messy dollop of precum over them before Liam has a chance to open up and let him inside.

He goes slowly at first, letting Liam get used to the position he's in; upside down, throat wide open, tongue stroking the top of his cock. Liam immediately starts sucking at what Harry gives him and Harry grits his teeth like usual, forcing himself to be patient, careful, considerate. 

Liam’s right, Harry never _makes_ him take it anymore. Never sits on Liam and feeds him his dick. Never pushes his head down. Always lets him set the pace while he sits back and enjoys the mind-blowing things Liam does to him on his own.

Liam fucking _wants_ him to take advantage now, though. He’s moaning desperately, twisting his head back and forth, corkscrewing his mouth onto Harry’s now fully hard cock. 

Harry pushes deeper, tip of his prick tapping against the back of Liam’s throat then falling in easily from this position. He speeds up and Liam goes limp and just takes it. Harry fucks in and out of his mouth until he's pounding feverishly through cum and salvia soaked puffy lips into his throat contracting exquisitely around him, and Liam makes those punched-out, wet, choking noises that Harry missed so damn much.

“Fuck, Liam, yes. Swallow me down,” he coaxes softly, bending forward to grab Liam’s thighs, ties dangling from his neck. He pulls so Liam’s knees rest on his chest and he’s open for Harry to see his pink hole clenching and winking at him restlessly. “Uh, look at that.” 

The sight of Liam exposed for him causes Harry’s breath to catch, and the shot of possession that tears through him – the knowledge that this is _his_ – makes him greedy, ravenous, fucking _insatiable_ for him.

Harry rests his elbows either side of Liam’s hips on the bed and fucks his throat measured and deep, letting his head fall against the inside of one of his open thighs. Smirking mischievously, he blows over Liam’s hole, watching it contract and flutter while he scrapes his fingernails up and down the insides of his thighs, teasing the skin until it’s over stimulated and Liam _shakes_ , pulling off his cock to catch his breath. 

“Harry, oh, that’s too much, so good, please, don’t, yes, please,” Liam babbles, wrecked and indecisive, and he's like this with such stunning regularity that Harry doesn’t even blink before sliding a hand down to lightly flick his index finger over the pink furl of flesh of his anus, pushing him further.

Liam tightens and shrieks, and Harry rubs soft circles to try and relax him. He plays around the outskirts of Liam’s hole while he returns to moaning and gagging around Harry’s cock; rubbing and brushing over it, sometimes with the tips of his fingers, sometimes pressing hard with his whole massive hand. Liam’s pinned under him, unable to get free – unable to do anything except take Harry’s cock down his throat and let him tease between his legs, and Harry’s on _fire_ with how good this feels.

He slides a finger against Liam’s grasping hole, threatening to press in with slow circles and firm pressure. Just as he’s about to dip in – about to give Liam some relief – Liam starts whimpering, fingernails biting sharply into the backs of Harry’s thighs where he’s grabbing at him, and Harry knows from experience that Liam’s about to come. He pulls away reluctantly and moves back – licking moist, nipping kisses back up his torso in broad, wavy trails while Liam fights back an objection. 

Harry pulls out of Liam’s mouth when he reaches his nipples, spit dribbling down his thighs as kisses up his neck. He kneels on the floor, mouth catching Liam’s messy, red lips while he half wipes away, half rubs in, the filthy mess that’s collected on Liam’s face.

“Time to get back up on your hands and knees like a good puppy.” Harry licks the tip of Liam’s nose.

Liam hauls himself up, not nearly as graceful as before, and rolls over on the sheets, scrubbing a hand over his pink, sticky face and shaking his head. He pushes up on his hands and knees, head facing the pillows, and Harry slaps the inside of one of Liam’s thighs until he gets the hint; spreading his legs out further and falling forward so his shoulders and forehead are pressed against the mattress.

“Fuck, that looks amazing,” Harry growls. “Look at you all open and desperate for me, Liam. You can’t wait for my cock, can you?” He takes his time gazing at Liam submissive and waiting for him, grabbing the base of his cock and squeezing to stave off coming because _fuck_ if this isn’t the best view in the world. 

Shifting forwards, Harry runs the tip of his finger from the base of Liam’s neck down the bumpy line of his spine, stopping when he gets to the top of his tailbone. He dips his finger into Liam’s crack, snickering at his whimper and darting away when he tries to chase the finger to the depths of where he’s clenching for it.

Liam makes a disappointed chirp, and in concession Harry presses both hands against his flanks, pushing his palms firmly back up to his shoulders. Liam shudders and trembles underneath his hands and Harry absorbs it; letting the energy from Liam’s anticipation work its way through his system, mixing with his, making him feverish.

“What shall I do with you, hey, Liam?” he asks ponderously, tracking the well-cut muscles up Liam’s arms. “What will you let me do to your beautiful body?” He lets his fingers dip and tickle at Liam ribs. He squirms gently and painfully sexy. 

Liam releases the pillow case from between his teeth to pant, “Anything, Harry. You can take anything, it’s yours.”

Harry _knows_ that, but hearing it from Liam’s lips makes him crazy, and he kneels on the bed, shoving himself hard against Liam for a second. The contact sends electric shocks of pleasure through the tip of his cock and Harry grits his teeth, hissing with how fucking good it feels, wiping a drip of precum on the back of Liam’s thigh with the head, then sitting down to get to work.

He starts by rubbing the rough pad of a thumb over Liam’s balls, teasing the delicate skin, before taking them in his hand, bouncing them lightly. Liam squirms, hips shooting up and then down. Harry grabs his balls to keep him still, but it only makes Liam hump back and sit into his hand.

“Harry, please, _please_ don’t touch there, you know it makes me come,” Liam complains, voice thick and sullen. 

Harry does know, it’s why he’s doing it. 

Somehow the fact that Liam thinks he has any choice in the matter makes Harry’s jaw clench, and a savage noise he doesn’t even recognise rips through the air.

“You fucking won’t, Liam,” he growls deeply. “You’ll come when I say, or I’ll spank you until you’re red raw and not touch you for a fucking week.” Liam gasps and Harry fingers his balls, running his nose around the curve of his arse. “You think I’m joking, Puppy? Just try me.”

“No, Harry, I’m sorry, I won’t, I’ll be good, I’ll - I’ll,” Liam begins jabbering, searching furiously for words that will please Harry, make him continue, make him proud, and it turns Harry fucking wild for him.

“Mmm, that’s more like it. But since you’re not being my obedient, compliant, dutiful boy today, maybe we need to make _sure_ you know who’s in charge.” 

Harry slides one of the ties from around his neck while he bites at the fleshy area where Liam’s thigh meets his bum. He doesn’t give Liam a chance to protest before taking both wrists in his hands and yanking them from under him. Liam falls clumsily onto his face, struggling disorientated while he tries to figure out why he can’t use his arms. 

Harry holds his wrists at the small of his back, gripping one end of the tie in his free hand and the other in his mouth, stretching it out and then binding Liam’s wrists together, tying them with a neat, secure bow.

“There we go,” he blows out approvingly, Liam wrapped in front of him like the most enticing present he’s ever been given. “Now maybe you’ll remember that you don’t get to tell me where I can and can’t touch you.”

“Ah, yes, Harry, yes,” Liam croaks, resting his weight on his head and shaking with supressed need.

“That’s better.” Harry squeezes his cheeks in his palms, rubbing firmly and then pulling them apart until he can feel Liam’s muscles relax under his hands. Watching intently, he slides his thumbs to Liam’s pink centre, pushing them both in together. “Fuck me, that’s pretty,” he rumbles, leaning forward and darting kitten licks around his hole until the skin is pliable and soft and Harry can _taste_ how ready he is. 

Liam mewls and Harry dips his tongue between his thumbs, licking in hot and greedy, moaning into him. Liam pushes back against his face and whimpers, causing Harry’s tongue to slide deeper inside him. He’s tastes earthy and sultry. Addictive. Harry twists and flicks his tongue, making Liam drenched and sloppy, then seals his mouth over him and _sucks_ , thumbs tugging his hole apart until he loosens. 

He moves away, air hitting cold on his damp face, and pulls his thumbs as hard as Liam can take, watching as his sphincter widens and clenches in the air. “Jesus Christ, Liam, I need to fuck you.” Harry’s desperate to get inside Liam before he comes all over his back and arse, just so he can bathe it in white. He smacks Liam on the hip, making him fall forward onto his chest, hands still bound tightly behind him. 

“Flip over, baby, I want to see you.” Harry’s a little bit ashamed of how hard his dick throbs watching Liam struggle awkwardly onto his back. He still lets Liam see him snicker unkindly when he ducks his flailing legs, knowing the humiliation gets him off something wicked. 

Harry reaches over and grabs the lube sitting on the bedside table where they keep it ready and waiting. He flicks the cap off and drenches his hand in cherry flavoured liquid, far too shaky to squeeze slowly and evenly. He doesn’t care, just throws the botte to the side of the bed and rubs his hands together briskly, using his right to jerk the liquid onto his dick and his left to cup his hand into Liam’s crack, smearing it in.

Liam’s gazing up at him, eyes hooded and dopey, and this is why Harry didn’t blindfold him – so he could see Liam fucked-out and needy and so damn _horny_ , just for Harry. Just because of what Harry does to him.

Harry glides up Liam’s body and mumbles, “You want my big cock in your greedy arse, Puppy?” into his mouth, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling.

“Yeah, Harry, please, you’re killing me,” Liam replies breathlessly, spreading his legs and arching into Harry’s throbbing erection.

Harry buries a glistening hand under Liam and skilfully loosens his wrists, pulling the plaid material out, then tugging the remaining tie from around his neck. Liam’s eyes flash. Harry smirks, wicked and mischievous. “Put your hands above you head, Liam, so I can tie you up like my pretty little slut. That’s what you are right? My gorgeous slut that begs for dick.”

Liam nods frantically at Harry’s question, both hands flying up to grab onto the wooden posts lining their headboard. Harry swallows against the picture he makes; writhing and compliant, stripped down and vulnerable, trusting _Harry_ of all people to take care of him .

He ties Liam’s wrists to the boards, making sure the knots are loose enough that they don’t bite into his soft skin. Straddling Liam, Harry leans in and kisses each wrist, his thick, red cock throbbing on his tummy. He pulls back and sits up on Liam’s thighs, smiling down at him bound and helpless – all trust and love and the best thing he's ever had. “You doing okay, angel?” 

“Yeah, Harry. M’ready.” Liam bites his lip and tips his head back as Harry starts rubbing at his nipples, circling and pinching them until they’re pink and swollen, hard little nubs that Harry has to bend down and suck.

While his mouth’s occupied, Harry slides his fingers down Liam’s torso, tracing the lines his lube slick cock has made over his defined abs. He pulls back to watch them shake and move under the friction from his fingertips, teasing his way right down to the middle of Liam’s v-cut where he's always sensitive, but when he’s aroused becomes a fucking hotspot that Harry only has to brush with the tip of his prick before Liam’s bucking desperately up into it.

Harry dances his fingers around the area lightly at first, pressing harder when Liam glares up at him, catching on to his game.

“Harry, that’s not funny,” he frowns warningly, hips jerking of their own accord. 

“I’m not trying to be funny, Liam.” Harry widens his eyes mockingly at him and continues to sweep his nails back and forth. “I’m touching you wherever I want. Since you’re tied up at my mercy and you _belong_ to me.”

Liam’s eyes roll back at that and Harry’s fingers curl loosely around his leaking prick, jerking him slowly, lightly, fingers nowhere near tight enough to get him off. He laughs at the string of expletives Liam sends his way. “Bad puppy. That’s no way to get what you want.” His hand falls away from Liam and slithers back up his chest.

“No, no, Harry please, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, please,” Liam babbles, his hips rubbing against Harry’s balls, trying to lure him back in. 

“Oh, you beg _so_ nicely when you’re desperate for dick, sweetheart, how can I resist?” Harry parts Liam’s thighs with a knee, wedging himself between them and lifting Liam’s knees so they hook over the grooves of his hips and Harry can sink down into him. The slick between them guides Harry’s cock directly to Liam’s open hole and he pushes in firmly, taking Liam’s mouth again, kissing him wet and deep.

Liam cries out into his mouth, sucking at his tongue, thighs cradling Harry tightly to make up for the fact that he can’t touch him, grab him, _crush_ him in the way he normally does. It reminds Harry that Liam’s bound, and he reaches up to make sure the fabric isn’t biting into his skin.

“These don’t hurt, do they? I can take them off if – ” 

“No, Harry, I like it!” Liam says, insistently. “And so do you. Stop worrying so much.” He stretches up to kiss Harry reassuringly, and Harry tries not to freak out at how Liam knows him back to fucking front.

He rocks into Liam’s tight heat, firm and slow, pressing their foreheads together. Liam’s chest is shiny with a fine sheen of sweat, glistening as he unconsciously pulls at the ties, muscles working to get at Harry, and Harry can’t stop _staring_. Can’t stop being amazed that he can string up so much raw power and use it until he’s done. 

He pushes up on his knees, getting faster when Liam whines, ankles pushing against Harry’s arse and urging him in. They’re sticking together with exertion now, Harry’s curls dripping with sweat and falling against Liam’s face, and he tilts his chin to lick at the salty skin on Liam’s temple, whole body shuddering with the need to come.

Liam’s not close, but Harry can’t really do anything about that because his whole body is over-hot, shaking, muscles spasming out of control, and he is about to _go._

He pounds into Liam, once, twice, filling him with the first shots and then pulls out – sitting up on his knees and coming spectacularly loud and messy over Liam’s stomach and hips. He tries to force his eyes open to watch as the thick ropes of white hit Liam’s tanned skin, but the fog of orgasm makes it impossible to do much more than shout; deep, bellowing yells, that he's vaguely aware have set the dogs off barking and it would be _hilarious_ if he was even halfway coherent.

He collapses over Liam, hand resting in the pillow above his shoulder, other still wrapped tightly around his dick. He pants breathlessly for a minute, listening to Liam shushing and whispering in his ear until he comes down.

“Fuck, that was amazing.” Harry leans back and stares at Liam, covered in spunk. His pupils are blown, hips stuttering up, and Harry can’t believe what an incredible picture he makes. “Look at you. All needy and ready, waiting for me like a good boy.” 

Harry runs the sensitive head of his prick over the mess on Liam’s stomach, tracing his abs, drawing trails from his chest to his nipples, down to his own hard, throbbing dick. It sends aftershocks sparking up his body and his stomach _flips_. “Should I let you come, Liam? Have you earned it?”

“Only if you think I have, Harry.” 

Harry growls. That’s the right frigging answer. “Mmm, you have, baby. You’ve been my perfect slut today. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry pulls at the tie surrounding Liam’s right wrist, setting his arm free, and then climbs over to sit on his left, back against the headboard. He tugs Liam, boneless and pliant, into his lap with one arm under his knees, snuggling him into his chest, his left arm still tied to the wood.

“Like this, Liam. I’m going to make you come in my arms.” Harry works him back up with deep, sucking kisses, fingers running from his knees to his inner thighs, massaging and scratching. He ghosts teasing touches over Liam’s cock, playing him in his arms like a violin, Liam gasping into his mouth.

His hands run the length of his torso, playing with the sticky remnants of his orgasm while his tongue twirls with Liam’s. He pulls back only to feed him a saturated finger, bittersweet arousal shooting through his spent cock when Liam sucks it clean, giving him eyes that could make a eunuch moan. “Fuck, you’re such a filthy monkey.” 

Harry reaches down to surround Liam’s cock, squeezing and twisting, jacking him firmly enough that he's too distracted to see Harry’s other hand dipping behind him. He circles Liam’s puffy hole with his middle finger and he squeals in shock, free hand grabbing Harry’s shoulder and bucking forwards. Harry laughs and kisses his ear, finger sinking in deep, swirling and thrusting as he works his cock harder, foreskin slipping through his hands like silk.

“Yeah, is that good, Puppy? You like my fingers fucking you when you’re all loose from my cock and sloppy with my cum?”

“Mmmuhhhh.” Liam mouths at the skin of Harry’s neck, breathes hotly onto his skin. He bites down when Harry curls his finger, hitting his sweet spot and fingering it until Liam’s sobbing, and Harry feels like he has all of Liam in his hand – can control him with just the barest brush on his cock and the slightest twitch of his finger inside him.

He works in a second finger and Liam starts bouncing in his lap, searching for friction, opening enough that Harry’s cum drips down his hand and onto his wrist. Harry thumbs the sloppy head of Liam’s cock then wipes it down, whole hand covering his dick with hard pulses of pressure as Liam claws at his shoulder. 

“Whose hole is this, Liam? Tell me,” Harry demands, up to his shiny silver rings in Liam’s pink tightness.

Liam pitches forward in spasm, groaning gutturally. “Uhhh, yours, Harry. It’s yours.”

“Again. Say it.” Harry bites down hard under Liam’s ear, marking the spot with his teeth.

“Yours, Harry! Everything’s yours, I belong to you.”

“Yes, you’re mine. My Puppy.”

It would only take the barest flick of Harry’s fingers to push Liam over the edge, but Harry’s having too much fun. Controlling Liam in his lap, reliant totally on Harry for his orgasm, is _breathtaking_. He could do this for hours, bringing Liam to the brink and then backing off, kissing away his indignant look before starting all over again. 

He manages to play with him long enough that Liam thinks he's going to come four separate times; Harry left with an armful of pouty, agitated boy when he cuts him off, smiling. Liam knows all the tricks to get his own way from Harry though, and after Harry starts working him up for a fifth time, he blinks up at him with wet, pleading eyes. “I need to come, Harry. Please, gorgeous, please.” 

Harry can’t resist that look. Can’t resist Liam asking so prettily, and he capitulates. He adds a third finger, finding his prostate immediately and massaging it, palm slapping against his bottom, dripping wet, squelching. He fucks his hand down Liam’s cock simultaneously, working him with his hands until he’s shouting continuously into his neck and Harry can feel the ripples from inside Liam that signal he’s about to come.

“Come on, Puppy, come on, come for me, I want to see you all slutty and out of control for me, now, now, come on, _now_.” Harry turns his cheek into Liam’s, presses his hand in _hard_ and holds him. Liam goes wild, Harry barely able to keep him contained to his lap as he writhes and screams. 

He watches shocked and amused as Liam comes – beautiful and long and wild – and it feels like he’s touching his orgasm. Like he has all of his pleasure on the pads of his fingers, and it’s raw and powerful and devastating.

Harry cradles Liam, shuddering and delirious, while he comes down, his hands stroking all over his skin to keep him grounded, reminding him he's here with Harry – safe and sound, and so fucking _loved_.

“Fuck, angel, that was a big one, huh? You okay?” Harry asks, lips rubbing softly against Liam’s hairline as he loosens the remaining tie.

“Hmmm,” Liam smiles, nose bumping Harry’s chin. It’s so like when the puppies want cuddles that Harry can’t help but laugh, shaking his head when Liam looks up questioningly. 

He rolls Liam off him carefully, arranging them so they’re lying down face to face, Liam’s breath hitting Harry’s damp neck.

“Feel better?” Liam asks after he’s stopped buzzing, body lax and open.

Harry looks at him intently. “It’s – I can’t even explain, Liam. Yes. You make everything better.”

Liam smiles, soft and understanding, rubbing a finger over his tattoo on Harry’s stomach. Harry’s insides flip. 

“Did you enjoy it too?” he asks nervously, nose nudging Liam’s.

“Obviously, Harry.” Liam gives him a look that he knows from experience means he's being a numpty. 

Harry wraps his arms around his back and squishes him in a bear hug. “Shall I remind you again how fucking lucky I am to have you?” 

Liam nods. “You really are.”

“And if that article’s to be believed, and I have trapped you in my downward spiral, I’m exceedingly sorry,” he says solemnly. 

Liam shakes his head and catches Harry’s lips. “I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

“You mean I’m NOT the shagger of the year? Bugger.”

“Okay, that one might have some truth to it.” Harry buries his face in Liam’s neck and laughs.

“Actually, that was a nice picture of us in the paper,” Harry says, and Liam sniggers, pressing kisses into his hair. “We should get a couple of copies and frame them for our houses.”

Liam freezes in his arms, breath catching. “I don’t think we should.”

“I know, I was joking, you muppet,” Harry says, swallowing down a ridiculous shot of hurt.

“No, I mean, I don’t think we should get two. Maybe we should move the rest of my stuff in this weekend? Live together properly. What do you think?”

Harry hides a grin in Liam’s chest until he realises it’s not going anywhere and beams up at him. “Liam, so much of your stuff is here, we could do it now and be home for lunch.” 

Liam smacks his thigh. “That’s not true.”

“It’s a little bit true,” Harry insists, trying in vain to remember the last time Liam needed to go home for something.

Liam props himself up on an elbow, fingers running over the flaking mess on his chest and Harry knows he’ll want to shower soon. “Well, if I wasn’t here all the time taking care of you, who knows what you’d get up to.”

“Exactly. I need you here to keep me in line,” Harry says, fingering through his own grotty hair. 

He knows to a certain extent that’s true.

Harry isn’t perfect at this yet – still hasn’t gotten it all figured out. But Liam loves him. Seems to think he’s worth all the effort. And now he’s committing himself to them, wholly and fully, and Harry doesn’t really care to aim for perfect. 

Like always, he just aims to be Liam’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone who managed to make it to the end. If you have ANY questions about how anyone acted, please don't be shy. I'm completely open to discussion.


End file.
